


UNO, Hammocks and Handjobs

by OnlyJustLost



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Losers Club (IT), As in Ben Flirts But Bev Is Oblivious...again..., Because Beards Will be Beards, Blow Jobs, Crack, Dry Humping, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Gay Richie Tozier, I told you he was being a dumbass, Idiots in Love, Implied Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris - Freeform, Internalized Homophobia, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, Minor Richie Tozier/Original Character(s), Pansexual Eddie Kaspbrak, Pennywise Happened But They Cannot Remember, Period-Typical Homophobia, Reddie, Richie Cannot Stop Getting Boners Around Eddie, Richie Tozier Being a Dumbass, Swearing...A Lot if It..., The Clubhouse (IT), The Hammock (IT), handjobs, in that order
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2020-10-21 08:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20690846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyJustLost/pseuds/OnlyJustLost
Summary: Eddie and Richie really should have learnt what it meant to have personal space.Maybe things would have been less confusing if they had just given each other a little space.Instead, Richie and Eddie are taught a valuable lesson about playing games they don’t have a rule book for.





	1. Welcome to the Club

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses. Sometimes you just have to write about Reddie. They did fight Pennywise but they all forgot hence literally no mention. That sad excuse and also I don’t want to think about Pennywise and Eddie in the same sentence because my heart cannot handle it. I hope you like this random and altogether shameful bit of writing.

The sun was now teetering on the edge of the horizon, casting the whole of New England into the deep indigo of early nightfall. It was not teasing the cracks in the tree line so much as it was pulling itself away, allowing the dark to nurture its damned secrets in peace. As night encroached the noises that were once undetectable during the clamouring of daybreak, became restless in the sharp mid-July air. Cicadas hummed and crickets whirred in the same expected way as the wind hissed and the leaves shuffled. 

“Richie.” Came a voice that the night did not own. It was the voice of an eighteen year old Eddie Kaspbrak. A voice that had become octaves lower, yet was still consistently urgent and piercing. It was a voice that while not belonging, had a place amongst the black, bleak trees of the barrens: had demanded its place their many Summers before when seven lonely children had made a home with no hearth. “Rich.” 

“Five more minutes.” Another voice spoke, this one deeper and thick with sleep. Nothing followed for a few more seconds and the darkness seemed to claim the pseudo-silence once more. Or at least it seemed to for a few precious, settled seconds.

“Oi, dickwad.” There was the unmistakable thump of what had to be a fist against clothed flesh. “Get the fuck up numb-nuts.”

“Fuck you, ya piece of shit pillow.” Said Richie Tozier indignantly, the words mumbled against the not-pillow. 

“I’m not your fucking pillow asshat!” 

The noises were coming from the home without a hearth. Dug out and crafted by the mind of a young architect, the underground haven was given life years prior. In the years since it became a home. It may be without a hearth but it had been given a heart, seven hearts, that beat for it. 

“Gee whizz, Popeye, stop rocking the damn boat, ya ‘ear.” Grumbled the increasingly revived body of Richie. It seemed almost incredible that the boy or well, Eddie supposed young man as he was now, could still be spouting out voices, half-conscious.

“Richie it’s not a fucking boat; it’s the hammock you Dangerfield-Wannabe.” 

This was indeed true. They were not on a boat. They were in the Loser’s clubhouse, both squeezed together on a hammock they had long since outgrown. It had been the same way since they were younger, top-to-tail and squished against each other. Of course they were, neither of them, compact like they used to be. Richie had long, gangly limbs and Eddie - to his dismay still below average height – was much broader than he used to be. Despite his height, Richie was very slim and weighed very little and it was perhaps this fact that enabled the hammock to take their combined weight still. So long as Richie spread his legs out by Eddie’s ears and Eddie slotted in between the other’s thighs, knees up and feet tucked beneath Richie’s armpits they could more or less fit comfortably.

“Alright Cap’n, whatever you say.” Came a more coherent response as Richie pulled his face out of the Calf he’d been pulling against his face to use as a make-shift pillow. “I say Eds, old boy, what fucking time is it?”

“Late.” 

“No shit, Einstein.” Richie quipped as he untucked his glasses from where they’d been hooked onto his shirt and placed them clumsily on his face. “Where are the others?” 

He was of course referring to the other losers, their partners in crime, who had been here before they had fallen into an impromptu slumber. 

“Probably fucked off after they heard your snoring, you OSA motherfucker, now let go of my leg.” The words had no real bite to them. They were laced with the same jesting observations that characterised their friendship.

“Please. If I ‘snore’ you, my good fellow, create oceans with all that fucking drooling, no wonder I thought I was on a bloody boat you produce enough saliva to drown a man, Eddie my boy.”

“Fuck off, Trashmouth. I don’t drool.” Eddie snapped back, wiping his mouth with on the shin of Richie’s leg.

“Course you don’t, Eds” Richie cooed back which earned him another thumping hit. This time hard enough to make him jolt and rock the hammock once more. 

“Don’t call me that, fuck-face” 

“Can you stop hitting me, I’ve just woken up. Cut a man some slack.” Richie was saying as he looked at the dark shape in front of him that was so obviously Eddie. 

“Fine.” Eddie conceded and began rubbing Richie’s leg in lieu of an apology. “I think they thought we wanted to be alone or some crap.” 

It was no secret that their friends, love them as they might, were a bunch of arseholes. They had conceived the idea amongst themselves that, just because Richie and Eddie liked to spend time bickering and annoying each other, they were secretly pining after each other. It didn’t matter how many times they had told them that neither of them were gay and that they’d rather die than swap spit, the other five just wouldn’t let it go. 

“They still think I wanna stick my precious sword into your stone?” Richie asked making Eddie guffaw at the frankly absurd analogy. He stopped massaging Richie’s leg and tapped it, almost playfully, as he wheezed in a breath. 

“Yeah, Rich. They think exactly that. That is the exact thought that goes through their head when they think about you and me.” Eddie laughed as he muttered “Sword in my stone, my god Richie. Incredible.”

“You know what, Eds?” Richie said. “I’m getting a bit tiered of them trying to make us some token fags so we can truly declare the losers club the most rejected group in Derry.”

“I’m not a fag.” Eddie stated glumly. “This is your fault you know.”

“How is it my fault? If I recall correctly, I wasn’t the one who went and made me pop a boner during a game of fucking UNO.” Richie said in a smug voice that oozed satisfaction. 

“I told you, asswipe, it’s not my fault your bony as hell. Maybe next time, don’t tickle me while I’m on your fucking lap.” Eddie had folded his arms now. If Richie could see anything more than his silhouette he’s sure he would have that preacher face he worn when he told Richie something. Richie thought back to that fateful night and knew he and Eddie remembered it differently.

They had all been crammed into Mike Hanlon’s box room. For space, Eddie had taken up perch on Richie’s lap and Bev had slotted herself between Bill’s v-spread legs. It wasn’t the most comfortable of circles but they made it work. At first no one even considered it weird that Eddie would choose to sit on Richie’s lap. They had played a few rounds with some light-hearted chatter until things, as it seemed they always did, began to get more competitive. Ben had suggested the game after Monopoly had been banned (Stan too good and Richie too wild for such a game). 

“Mikey boy, you know I love you man, don’t do me dirty like this.” Richie moaned as the colour was changed from red, the colour of his final two cards, to blue. 

Mike looked him dead in the eye, smiled and repeated: “Blue.”

“You shall rue this day, Mike! Rue it! I swear on the grave of my dear father, I will find you and make you wish you never heard the name Ri-“ Eddie’s hand had clamped over his lips and stifling the spiel.

“Shut up, Richie and take your damn turn.” There was a disgusted cry from Eddie who removed his hand quickly. “Did you just lick me? You’re disgusting do you know how many germs are on my hand let alone in your mouth!” 

“Quit you’re yelling, son and pass me a card. That’s a good boy.” Richie laughed back, joined by Bev and Bill.

“Here, take your stupid card, I hope it’s a rubbish one. Eddie said after retrieving a card off the second pile in the middle. “Ben can you grab the sanitiser out of the pack behind you?”

After he had successfully sanitised his hand and rubbed a bit over Richie’s face who complained bitterly about it going in his eye (despite the fact he was wearing his coke-bottle lenses), Eddie took his turn and the game carried on. 

“You think that was funny?” Richie whispered into Eddie’s ear as Ben and Bill began to pick up a fuss over whether the card Stan had laid was a six or a nine. He had been about to turn back and say hilarious when two bony fingers attacked his sides and he began flailing like a hooked fish. Shrieking and screaming at such an attack.

“Get a room, you two!” Bev giggled gleefully, far more interested in her friend’s assault then the six/nine argument. 

“Quit it you two, my Grandpa will beat my ass if I wake the whole house.” Mike implored, shaking his hands to get their attention. He laid his card and nudged Richie. “Your go. Shh. Lay your card” 

“What did you lay? I can’t see, Eds, move over would you.” Richie said leaning forward as Eddie wiggled more and more in his lap still calming himself and catching his breath. They were about to start squabbling again when Mike’s Grandpa came in and gave them an earful about how loud they were and that really it was getting late and they should all go home. 

“Er, sorry guys, guess it’s an early one tonight. Can’t get him mad.” Mike apologised as the losers began to grab their things and head out. That is all except Richie and Eddie who were both sat with identical looks of horror plastered across their faces. 

“Guys, please, you gots to go. He’ll get real mad.” Mike said to them, the other losers turning back from the doorway to see what was taking them so long.

“Y-you okay R-r-Richie?” Bill asked paternally, a look of genuine concern crossing his soft features. Richie just blinked at him, his cheeks noticeably pink.

They were sat super still, Richie’s hands digging into Eddie’s thighs like clamps. 

“I just…I…I…” They had never seen Richie this at a loss for words.

“Richie.” Eddie said eerily calm, ignoring the rest of the losers. “Please don’t tell me that’s your…”

“Shut up Eds, just shut up.” Richie begged.

“Oh my god.” And suddenly Eddie was laughing maniacally. “Dear god. Let me go!”

The losers bar, Stan and Ben who had given up waiting and were making their way out towards their bikes, were smiling not quite sure what was going on but enjoying the look of terror on Richie’s face. That was until Eddie managed to pry himself free of Richie’s grip and stand up turning and laughing at a now mortified Richie who was covering his crotch desperately.

“Richie…is that…Oh honey.” Bev said, giggles then erupting from her as she left the room and allowed Mike, Bill and Eddie to laugh at Richie and his boner.

Ever since then the losers had kept telling them that they loved them no matter what and all this other crap. It was all ‘be proud of who you are’ and ‘what you two have is beautiful’. Every time they said it, the two of them would look at each other and pretend to barf. They had eventually stopped pressing them when Eddie went on a full on rampage about how wrong it was. He’d started banging on about Aids and how he would never want a trashmouth like that anywhere near him. Richie in turn said he was holding out for the rock and roll life where he could get all the pussy he wanted. Both of them had been sorely told off by both Bev and Bill who scolded them for being so close-minded. 

They didn’t speak about it anymore but that didn’t stop the losers from trying to find something between them that wasn’t there. They got used to it and it was now an inconvenience more than something that actually bothered them. Every now and then when somehow being gay or something got brought up the words Fag or Fairy would get tossed around the group, mainly by Richie and Eddie, and they’d get a right earful from Bev about how awful those terms were and how they should stop using them. One time she’d even told them that, just because they were denying shit to themselves didn’t mean they got to be dreadful about something that was not that big a deal to anyone other than old dimbats and creeps like Bowers.

They were lucky in the sense that they had not once let it affect their friendship. Even after the UNO incident they took a day or two apart but were straight back to normal. They were sure in who they were and refused to let their friends make them act differently around each other. It was the only time they could say that the losers were not necessarily good friends to them as it really could have put a rift in their friendship had they been worried anybody but the losers thought they were secret gay lovers.

“Richie, we should probably get going.” Eddie said eventually after they’d both fallen into a comfortable quiet, neither needing to speak. “It’s getting really late.” 

“Aw, is you afraid of ze darko, Edvardo?” Richie teased , running his fingers up Eddie’s legs to imitate spiders. This earned him a hard shove and he retreated quickly.

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“Come on, Eds, lighten up, buddy ol’ pal.” Richie was smiling now. “You’re mum thinks your at mine and my mum didn’t even know if I would be coming home tonight let alone you. Let’s just stay here. Don’t fancy walking out there at this time anyhow. Whadda you say?”

It was of course against Eddie’s better judgment, but he considered it. He hated the dark if truth be told and while it was dark in here at the moment, they had torches. It saved them walking to Richie’s through the trees that could be hiding all sorts of foul creatures. Of course the clubhouse had all kinds of creepy crawlies but for some reason, Eddie wasn’t all that bothered by the thought. He would rather stay here where he knew his friend felt safe than make him go back to the house he hated to stay in. Eddie knew all to well what happened when Richie forgot to shut his fucking mouth around an inebriated Wentworth Tozier. It was a Saturday and Richie’s old man would most likely have had a few by this hour.

“Alright jerkwad, I’m in. But just this once and if I contract some kind of virus, I will kill you.” Eddie said finally. He knew Richie hadn’t expected him to say yes and he could tell from the excited and sadly relived cry of delight, that he was happy. Soon he was disentangling their limbs and fumbling in the dark to find the torch that would be somewhere on the ground below them. “Ew that’s gross Rich. Do you know how many diseases you could get from touching those floorboards with your hands?”

“Sorry, Doctor K. just have to get some light up in this here room.” This was quickly followed by a triumphant cheer as the sharp beam of a torch switched on. Eddie watched as Richie, still leaning precariously off the gently rocking hammock pulled the torch up towards himself. “There we are, much better hey Eds.”

“Hang it up on the hook and then lay down before you knock us both over.” Eddie commanded bossily. Richie did what he was told and hooked it above there heads by the end of the string that had been looped through the hole at the end of the industry sized torch. Now that Eddie could see Richie’s face he cackled. “Fuck me Rich, looks like you’ve been to ‘Nam.”

“Yeah yeah, I got hammock head, you’re no sight for sore eyes yourself, Kevin fucking Keegan.” Richie laughed back, rearranging his curls all the same.

The night continued like that, just bantering back and forth. They talked about everything there was to talk about and everything that didn’t need to be talked about. From music to games to the girls they liked and the ones they would happily shoot in the face, they continued for hours. Eddie didn’t have time to think about the creepy crawlies or the risk of disease at all. It was shaping up to be a really good night. It was lucky that they were so comfortable chatting all kinds of breeze with one another. It was always easy with Richie.

“I think though, if I was going to sell a kidney I’d probably make sure it went to good use. Like I don’t just wanna give away a kidney and die for some Freddy Krueger motherfucker to take it.” Richie was saying as he used his hands to express himself to his friend who was pondering what he said thoughtfully. “Hey that’s a point, where the fuck are my kidneys? What if I only have one and just don’t know it?”

“I think you’d know if you only had one kidney.” Eddie said back with a chuckle.

“Not necessarily. Like what if somebody drugged me and took it?” Richie looked genuinely convinced as he started pulling at his shirt and prodding at his abdomen. Eddie watched him poke at his bowels, searching like he had x-ray vision that could see into his gut. 

“You’d have a scar, retard. And you would have all kinds of medical problems if you only had one kidney, I’m pretty sure.” He spoke, the voice of reason. Richie of course, was not listening and was still poking at his belly. “You realise you’re kidneys aren’t there?” 

“You saying I got no kidneys at all, Dr K?” Richie pretended to panic, his elongated features pulled into a faux face of fear. “Oh god, Doc, you gotta help me! What am I to do without my kidneys? I don’t wanna die Doc. I gots so much to live for. Think of the children! Whatever will Staniel and Benscom do without their old Pa?”

“Calm down you great dolt, look come here.” Eddie said rolling his eyes. He pushed himself forward his bum slipping into the dip that Richie’s occupied. He lent so his stomach was hanging over Richie’s crotch, something he didn’t even consider as an issue, and his arms outstretched to wrap around either side of his best friends narrow hips. He heard a hiss as his cold hands came into contact with Richie’s warm back. 

“Eddie.” Richie all but yelped out. 

“Look your kidneys,” Eddie began as he pushed his smaller hands over the warm expanse of skin round towards where the organs were, not noticing how Richie had stiffened under his touch. He had to shove his hands between Richie and the fabric of the hammock. “Are round here.”

“Eds, seriously…” 

“You see here were my fingers are?” Eddie was saying ignoring Richie as he pushed the pads of his index fingers into the points he knew roughly held the two parallel kidneys. “This is where your kidneys are!”

“Eddie, stop.” Richie whispered sternly. Of course Eddie didn’t give a rats ass about what Richie was saying because right now he was revelling in the current conversation. A conversation that let him demonstrate that he was a smartarse, something he loved to prove to people, especially Richie.

“See if you had been butchered in your sleep and someone stole an organ,” He said pressing on as he dragged his nails around the skin he had access to, leaning further forward to get to the spinal column and then drag away towards Richie’s hips, all the while feeling for any lines. “You would have a prize scar somewhere along here.”

“Fuck, Eddie, get off me. I’m serious.” Richie was pleading now, his voice sounding raspier than usual. Again Eddie took no notice, he had just about proved his point anyway. In his head he figured Richie was just whining because he was ticklish and was trying not to exploit this weakness in front of Eddie when he knew he’d use it against him, the same way Richie had been doing for years when he realised his neck was his ultimate weak spot.

“Aww is Trashmouth fucking Tozier, ticklish?”

“No. Eds fucking listen, just stop, I’m being-“ Eddie had not stopped. Instead he pounced at the chance and began wiggling his fingers against Richie’s sides mercilessly. He was expecting laughter. He was expecting shrieks. He was expecting a war.

What Eddie Kaspbrak, naïve and unassuming, had not expected was for Richie to let out a strangled and pitiful moan. It was chased by a couple of shits and some frantic shuffling, made futile by the fact Eddie had his whole torso pressed against Richie, pushing him further into the hammock.

Eddie had not been expecting to feel, in Richie’s attempts to pull away, the unmistakable bulge slide against his soft dick briefly. The sudden realisation of what was causing Richie so much grief crashed over him with a horrible stomach churning clarity. His eyes went wide and he felt his chest constrict even further when he realised that his own response was not so much stomach churning as it was heat coiling. 

Involuntarily, Eddie felt his own member start to stiffen at the brief sensation of Richie’s bulge pressed solid and hot against his. Oh.

Oh.

Oh god.

“Richie what the fuck?” Eddie yelled pulling himself back as he tried to create an impossible distance between them.

“Fuck, it’s not my fault.” Richie was saying as he too tried to navigate away from Eddie, not willing to get up off the hammock. Even in the half light the idea of standing up and fully exposing Eddie to the sight of the tent in his shorts, the one that would be clearly visible if he stood, was not a good one. “Why the fuck would you rub yourself against my junk, dude?”

“How is this my fault?” Eddie said, a blush of deep crimson coursing from his cheeks. “I just wanted to prove to your dumbass you had kidneys”

“Well congratulations fucktard! All you’ve proven is I definitely have a dick.”

“No shit, figured that when I felt it digging into my fucking balls, man”

“Fuck you, Eds. Shit just shut up let me think of something gross.” Richie was saying still acutely aware of Eddie still pressed against him. “Do you mind getting off the hammock, give a man some space.” Richie asked while trying to not think about that delicious friction. 

“I umm, I don’t want to um stand..” Eddie mumbled back. Richie looked over at Eddie, a mere centimetre separating their butts. Eddie had a hand delicately placed over his cock. 

“No fucking way!” Richie cried out hysterically, his little problem becoming less obvious the more he laughed at the idea Eddie had a semi. At least his made total sense. He hadn’t gotten himself off in weeks and someone touching his sides and rubbing against his dick was bound to get him worked up. “I don’t need to think of something gross, I’m sorted. How the fuck did you manage that?” 

“Beep, beep, Richie!” Eddie yelled angrily. 

“Ha ha. This is hilarious! Aw does Eddie have the hots for me? Serves you right, considering this is the second time you’ve got me hard.” Richie was laughing uncontrollably now, the whole hammock rocking with each rumble of his chest. 

It was not funny by normal standards and for two adamantly heterosexual males this was by no means a situation he should be laughing about. Considering everything the two of them should most definitely be out of the hammock at either ends of the clubhouse, both threatening to leave. 

“Hots for you as if, just fuck off alright.” Eddie was hot all over and his mind was short circuiting. He couldn’t process what was going on. He couldn’t think and Richie’s loud cries were making it hard to think and it wasn’t like Richie wasn’t always in his head but he didn’t need this right now. Now he needed to not have that voice in his head. He had literally felt a cock on his and his body had gone ‘gee whizz that’s hot’ and dropped a roll of quarters of its own.

“Eddie my darling, I didn’t know you felt this way! I’m touched” Richie cackled and laughed and taunted and Eddie grew more confused and more indignant and before he could stop himself he did the least logical and least normal thing anybody who would ever be in his situation would do.

“I’ll show you fucking touched, Trashmouth.” With that he unceremoniously reached forward and pushed his hand against Richie’s dick. The laughing was stifled by a sharp shriek.

“What the fuck. Get off my jewels, Kaspbrak!” Richie hissed. Of course his body betrayed him. It was in no way his choice to buck up into the hand laced over his groin but the feeling was fucking unfightable. He’d never in his whole entire life had someone else touch him like that, there. Fuck if it was a guy, fuck if it was Eddie, fuck everything it was a bloody toe curling feeling. “Shit.”

“Shits right. Do you like that?” Eddie said amazed. He was supposed to have hit Richie in the balls but this sort of weird instinct, that felt a lot like an urge or want, had made him open his palm and cup at Richie’s manhood. 

“Fuck.” Was all that he got back.

“Jesus, Rich you fucking slut. You like that don’t you?” The thing was, he knew this was the part where he ripped into Richie. Where he took the piss. Where he defiantly retrieved his hand from where it was. But the tightness in his stomach was getting hotter. 

“Don’t you call me a –“ Richie had been about to rip him an earful when Eddie literally gripped his shaft through his shorts and dragged his hand quickly down. Against all his best logic Richie let out a groan as he gripped the edge of the hammock desperately, hips bucking again. “Mmh.”

“Fuck.” Eddie pulled back then, or at least tried to. Richie seemed to be reacting on instinct as well as he darted his hand forward and rubbed at Eddie’s own cock. Eddie yelped and went to slap the hand away when he felt the same coiled lust Richie had just moments before. “Fuck. Shit.”

“It feels good, huh?” Richie breathed. “Feels better than when I do it myself.”

“Shit, Richie this isn’t-“ he wasn’t sure what he was going to to say: right, normal, straight, okay. Whatever it was he changed tracks. “Fuck.”

“I gotta say Eds. In the least gay fucking way possible, you look kinda hot when you moan with your mouth open like that.” Richie said as he took in Eddie’s half tilted head and slightly parted mouth gasp at the rubbing sensation.

“Fuck you, asshole.” Eddie was huffing. “Fuck, fuck it.”

“You wanna get each other off?” Richie asked dead seriously, straight to the point.

“Tell no one?” 

“Obviously.” Richie said.

“Fuck Rich, this is so gay. If the losers find out they’ll say they were right. Rich this is-“ He let himself moan again. 

“Doesn’t make us gay Eds. We are just horny and are just helping each other out, okay? Besides no one has to know.”

“Shit yeah okay.” And with that Eddie had - and more importantly gave - his first ever handjob.


	2. Queers at the Quarry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the Quarry turns from quaint to queer as Richie and Eddie take it one step too far. This could be the start of a very tremulous time for them. They just haven’t realised yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I might as well continue this considering some of the lovely comments posted. I hope you like this and I promise there will be more angst to come.

August brought with it a ferocious heat. Derry sweltered away like a leg of slow roasted ham in the cooker; air as thick as honey with a sun that would sting as sharp as the certain slap of a mother’s hand. The losers, as they did every summer for as long as they could remember, congregated down by the quarry. 

Amongst the trees and a little walk away from their beloved clubhouse, the quarry sat stagnant and unassuming. It had been abandoned many years ago and remained that way since. It had slowly filled up with water, forgotten but perfect for seven young people to gallivant in during a hot August day. 

They had met in the army morning, all dressed in their Summer shorts, some with towels and some with snacks. Taking their bikes with them they made the journey together all discussing the latest hot topic: Stan’s new girlfriend. By the time they had stripped out of their clothes, down to their tightie-whiteies, they were all convinced Stan was mad for dating some ‘Jane Doe Menorah Fucker’ (as Richie had not-so-politely put it) just to keep his father happy.

It continued throughout the day. After the conversation had diverged into sub-conversations and side chats it would somehow be exhumed, the same teasing resuming itself. By the afternoon Stan seemed less than pleased by the constant reminders of his new girlfriend that he splashed a surprised Bill in the face. This in turn started a whole war that ended with a disgruntled Stan yelling at the top of his lungs.

“If someone splashes me again I will do the same thing my Dad did to me when I was born!” He shouted it threateningly, a finger pointed directly at the main culprit, his words immediately followed by a torrent of water to his face. “That’s it, I warned you Tozier!”

“Eddie save me! The dickless monster is trying to take away my balls!” Richie screamed as he began to frantically splash around, pulling an unamused Eddie into his arm and nearly drowning them both as he put on a shrill maiden-in-distress accent. 

“Get the hell off me you leech!” Eddie choked out pushing off the taller boy who leapt dramatically into the water like some sort of sideways jumping orca. “Stan, have at him. He’s all yours.”

“Eds how could yo-“ Before he could get out anymore of his faux-hurt spiel, Stan dunked his head under the water. Now, they all knew Stan wouldn’t actually drown Richie but the thought most definitely crossed his mind. 

Beverly and Ben were by the waters edge both deep in conversation about something, most likely to do with a book Bev had been reading. It was the same book Ben just so happened to have started reading two days after she had brought it with her to the clubhouse. Neither of them noticed the failing arms, a pair of glasses waving like a flag, coming out from underneath Stan who was bobbing happily in the water. 

It was normally Bev or Ben who made sure no one died as, more often than not, the others would just laugh at the misfortune of their friends. It was lucky (for Richie anyway) that after a few spouts of laughter and calls of encouragement from Eddie and Mike, Bill took it upon himself to save him.

“Alright S-stan. Let the guy b-breathe.” Stan pouted but did as he was told, reluctantly letting the curly haired boy go. Spluttering to the surface, Richie coughed out a load of water.

“Christ, Staniel. Talk about liking it rough, you fucking sadist! My god.” He put the glasses he been holding onto for dear life, back on. “If your Dad did that too you when you were born, you were one fucking stubborn ass kid for not dying.”

“Fuck off trashmouth. I warned you.” Stan smirked at him then began swimming over towards Bill who was shaking his head, chuckling bemusedly. “You’re lucky Bill took pity on you.”

“Cheers Billiam, my trusty comrade. I owe you a great debt.” Richie saluted him, specks of water flinging from his arm and splashing the calming water in a line. Bill, his good nature prominent, gave a quick salute back before turning to pat Stan on the back. “As for you, Eds, you sad excuse for a best friend. What the fuck, pray tell, was that?”

“Not my fault. You fucking asked for it.” Eddie said smugly, treading water a distance he assumed was safe enough away from the other. Eddie did this a lot. He would throw Richie under the bus and then pretend he had nothing to do with it. More often than not he would quip back a good insult or another reason he was not to blame. “Besides, you almost drowned me first.”

“Oh come off it, if I was going to kill you it would not be some lame ass drowning accident. It’s like you don’t even know me at all Eds.” Richie was feigning betrayal as he slinked ever so slowly closer to Eddie who was eyeing him with so much distrust you’d have thought the man before him was responsible for the death of his psychotic mother.

“Please. You keep talking and it’ll be enough to make him and everyone else off themselves anyway.” Mike hollered over in response, a look of joy on his face, causing the others to laugh.

“Since when has my gift ever been a source of distress? Little Eddiekins here loves my jokes.”

“Says fucking who?” Eddie asked a great grin the last thing Bill, Mike and Stan saw before Richie pounced. 

Leaping forward like a frog from a lily pad, Richie sprung himself onto Eddie with a satisfying sploosh. The others watched as the two kept submerging then resurfacing in a flurry of splashes and imaginative curses. By the end of the spectacle, Eddie was somehow on top of Richie’s shoulders his hands clinging to Richie’s, both laughing and shooting names at each other. 

“You guys are something else.” Mike sighed, floating on his back and closing his eyes to soak up some more of the sun. Beside him Stan p, who had been whispering something in Bill’s ears, began to mount Bill’s skinny shoulders.

“Come on then! Round two, Trashmouth.” The Jewish boy challenged, a glint in his eye, as he and Bill rounded on their friends. Slow but sure strides by Bill as he waded closer were met by the erratic bouncing of Eddie and Richie as the latter catapulted them towards their opponents.

“You’re fucking on, old man.” It came from Richie’s mouth but for all the water splashing around as he bounded towards them, it seemed like Eddie’s open mouth was doing the talking.

“You’re going d-d-down, Eddie!” Bill cried aloud, a strange native war cry escaping his mouth.

“Bring it on, Big Bill.” Eddie said before a big hmff sound fell out as they all came into a forceful contact. He recovered quickly, his hands leaving Richie’s, aiming for Stans’ shoulders. From their left there was more sloshing of water as Bev and Ben joined Mike , cheering enthusiastically.

“Ow fuck you Bill!” Richie’s glasses had been practically slapped off his face, a finger jabbing into his eye as he forced himself to stay balanced. His feet were planted to the rocky, concealed floor underfoot, toes crunched and gripping the surface like a tree trying to root itself further into the earth.

“Eddie you pussy, stop using your nails!” 

“Maybe if you stop being a little bitch and fight like a man, I won’t have to!” Came a sassy response.

“You using your nails makes you the little bitch!” Stan yelled as he almost knocked Eddie clean off Richie.

“Whatever, dickless! Stop making Bill do all the work.” 

“You tell him, Eds!” Richie called blindly “Enjoy this Stan, it’s the only time you’ll be on top. Looks like a bottom; acts like a bottom!”

“What the fuck does that mean, you mongrel?” It seemed like Stan was about to say something else but a hard shove from Eddie had him falling backwards, Bill staggering to keep them both above water.

“As if Stan is the mongrel here.” Bill jeered, still holding tight to his partner’s shins having barely recovered. Mike was making ‘Oooo’ sounds at that while Ben chanted Bill and Stan’s names.

“If anyone’s a bottom it would be Eddie!” Bev was adding not-so-helpfully from the sidelines still clapping and shouting encouragement.

“Fuck you!” Shot back Eddie “The only bottom Stan’s gunna see is the bottom of the fucking Quarry, you daddy’s boy motherfucker.”

“Go on Eds, harness the power of the inhaler! Believe, Eds! Believe!” Richie harped, propelling them both forward. With a final shove from both of them they managed to topple the other two. 

Erupting into celebration, they cheered triumphantly. Eddie rubbing Richie’s head vigorously and Richie slapping Eddie’s shins enthusiastically. When Stan and Bill finally surfaced they were laughing loud and laughing hard. After they had wiped their eyes and Stan had dismounted they pretended to fake bow to the totem combination of their oldest friends.

“Well p-played guys.” Bill was saying as he handed the freshly retrieved glasses back to a thankful Richie. Giving him a clap on the back and a playful punch on his shoulder, Bill gave Eddie a playful tap on his butt.

“You should know by now,” Richie was saying as he rearranged the coke-bottle lenses “Eds and I make an unstoppable team!” 

“That’s so not true.” Bev said, laughing at her boys fondly.

“Oh yeah? Name one time Richie and I have made a bad team?” Eddie posed smugly. Well smug until he was unceremoniously ousted from his perch falling backwards into the water. When he resurfaced he caught a glimpse of Ben’s smirking face.

“Hide and Seek.” It was a simple statement that was met by a big reaction. 

“Fuck you, chubs.” Richie spat at Ben. It was an outdated name as Ben was considerably different from their youth, no longer the tubby baby face of the group. Richie still liked to call him chubs when he pissed him off which happened to be a lot. Ben, the gentle soul that he was, never took actual offence by it. In fact he knew, in Richie’s strange and twisted head it was almost a term of endearment.

“For the record that was Richard’s fault and, because I know Bev is going to say it because she’s predictable as all hell, we were not getting it on in the fucking pantry like a couple of fairies!” Eddie was pushing his wet hair back which made him look like a greaser from the fifties. He punctuated his words by slashing his hand dramatically through the air and – none of them could see for sure - most likely had a hand on his hip underneath the water.

They all knew what was being referred to and it conjured different recollections to their minds. Richie knew that it wasn’t his fault (“Why is nothing ever your fault?”) because he clearly remembered what had happened that fateful rainy day when the wind and the lightening had forced them inside.

It was Eddie who had insisted he be allowed to hide in Richie’s hiding spot. The pantry was tucked away and Richie had thought it an excellent place to avoid detection. He hadn’t considered how small it was when he had told Eddie he could. Tripping over a box in the entrance of the doorway Eddie had gone tumbling down grabbing Richie with him. There was a cacophonous clang as two bodies and an inordinate amount of spam had hit the floor.

Bev, who had been counting two rooms away had found them crushed on top of each other and had not let it go since. The other losers had left their hiding spots to come see what all the noise was about and it was safe to say, neither Eddie nor Richie’s egos had ever fully recovered since that day.

They reminisced about it for a bit, going over the incident and the other memories they had but soon the conversations reverted back to Stan’s girlfriend and Bill’s weird obsession with horror films. They never seemed to remember all that much anyway.

Hanging out with the losers was so easy and familiar. They knew each other as well as any group of friends who barely know themselves yet can know one another. Chatting about all sorts of things was easy and the time passed all too quickly.

Soon the sun began to set, lowering steadily and bringing about a cool air that felt almost subarctic to their sunburnt skin. One by one the losers began to grab their stuff and say their goodbyes, their arms covered in gooseflesh and their hair about dry. Ben offered to walk Bev home and Stan and Bill said they’d go with Mike so he wasn’t alone. Naturally, Eddie and Richie were the last two standing having both been smart enough to dry off in the sun and wrap their still fresh towels around them both. 

After a long talk about Stan’s new girlfriend and the fact that the hide and seek incident was really not that big of a deal, Richie began to steer the conversation into another tangent.

“I think Ben can be really annoying.” Richie was telling a disinterested Eddie as he poked a stick languidly into the damp soil. “Like, Stan can be uptight and Mike can be a bit quiet but Ben is the worst for hanging out with one-on-one.”

“You’re one to talk about being annoying, Rich.” Eddie said fondly as he bumped his shoulder into Richie’s. 

“Yeah yeah. Coming from the guy who sucks on his inhaler like he’s suckling his mum’s tits.” He got a much harder bump at that and a muttered ‘fuck you’. “Seriously though, I get that he has a hard on for Bev but come on! The book stunt was just plain sad.”

Eddie who had began to shuffle around knocked the towels that had been draped round them. They fell off their shoulders exposing their bare torsos to a light breeze. Mumbling a few choice words Richie quickly pulled them back up securing the fabric round Eddie’s shoulders then his own. Eddie said nothing, instead choosing to bite at his bottom lip fervently.  
They sat in silence for a little bit.

“You okay Eds? You seem really quiet.” Richie was looking intently at the smaller man as he asked him, his arm softly brushing Eddie’s. Eddie looked at him, his gaze focusing again.

“I’m fine asshole. Just thinking about Ben.” This wasn’t entirely untrue. He had been thinking about Ben in the two seconds after Richie had asked if he was alright and he needed to think of an excuse. In fact, he had been itching to pull away from Richie. His stomach had gotten wobbly when the other boy had pulled the towel round his shoulder and again when he felt their biceps touching. 

Ever since the night in the clubhouse, one they decided not to speak of even to each other, Eddie kept freezing up when they were alone and he felt his best friend’s skin on his. It was hard to stop remembering the way he had touched him and worse yet the way he had touched Richie back. Besides occasional flashbacks they really were fine. They hadn’t made a big deal out of it. The morning after it had happened, they woke up no longer head-to-toe but face to face. Richie had made some comment about morning breath and they snapped back into their normal routine of busting each other’s balls (not fondling them).

But as fine as he might be, Eddie would have to go over things in his head. He would have to consciously remind himself that if he thought about that night he couldn’t think of it in terms of Richie touching him but rather the feeling of being touched. Of being stroked firm and fast. Of the waves of pleasure. Of the breathy whisper of his own name after he had climaxed. Shit, if he thought about any of that stuff being done with Richie he would surely spiral into a monologue of self-hate. He would go on in his head interrogating himself, asking how he could be so dirty and disgusting. How he could do something only a faggot would do.

“Day dreaming about Benjamin? My my, you are whoring yourself around.” Richie’s voice came out of nowhere and made Eddie furrow his eyebrows. It was a joke of course, Richie just taking the piss as per. But Eddie felt his cheeks flair and he couldn’t tell if it was anger or sadness that he was feeling but his eyes watered a bit and his mouth searched for something spiteful to say. Despite his best efforts his comeback was less than satisfactory.

“Fuck you, bro!” Richie only laughed, wonderfully oblivious to Eddie’s genuine hurt at his comment. Why should it bother him? It was a joke. A harmless comment. It’s not like he actually thought Eddie was pining after Ben. He chose to carry on his original train of thought.

“It is sad though! Like Bev is a great girl, top notch Molly Ringwald impersonator, but I don’t get what he sees in her to go all heart eyes whenever she so much as farts near him.” Richie was grinning and it was obvious he was just trying to bait Eddie into a bitching session which would no doubt last hours. It was a habit of theirs. Richie targeting someone and trying to gage Eddie’s thoughts on them. From Bowers to Bill, no one was safe. Today, Eddie couldn’t really be all that bothered to humour him.

“He loves her. What’s it to you anyway?” He used his knee to knock Richie’s thigh. “You want Beverly all to yourself, Trashmouth?” 

“Nah, I like my girls psychotic and big enough to crush me. Why do you think I’ve been with your mum so long?” As expected Richie was pushed away roughly.

“Do you know how fucked up that is! That would literally make you my Dad, you perv.” Richie leant up on his elbows, still grinning ridiculously at Eddie who had wrapped both towels around himself looking stroppy. 

“I mean I can be your Daddy if you want, Eds. You can be my little Eddiebear.” He was cooing at Eddie, now on his knees trying to pinch his cheeks like he would a young child.

“Fuck off, you bloody nonce!” Getting to his feet he went to run away but was caught by the ankle. “Get off of me!”

“But Eddiebear, I just want to love you! Come to your old Papa will you.” He was putting on a failed 1950s bread maker voice, using more force than necessary to bring Eddie crashing to the floor, so hard he landed with a thud on his bum. 

Seizing the opportunity, Richie pinned Eddie under his tall frame and began peppering wet, smacking kisses over his friends face. Eddie shrieked and squirmed, trying to no avail to get free of the soft lips. By the time he had shoved Richie off to the side, he was beet red and covered in loose, sandy soil.

“You’re so fucking gross.” Eddie groaned as he wiped his face. He wanted to be mad but instead he began to laugh slowly then slowly harder. It was such a stupid thing that only Richie would do and he felt himself go warm, the feeling of the smooshing kisses and the memory of the clubhouse mixing together to the point he had to internally reboot himself. 

“Whatever you say, babyboy.” Winking and then chuckling again Richie sat himself up and pulled out a pack of crumpled cigarettes from the pocket of his shorts. Eddie, who had been about to have an asthma attack at the thoughts popping into his head, looked over at Richie in the hazy evening light, condescending and disappointed.

“Seriously Rich? I thought you and Bev quit.” He tried to snatch the lighter out of his elongated fingers but Richie knew him too well for that.

“Hands off, kid. Bev quit, I never said anything about stopping.” Richie then stuck his tongue out at him and lit the cigarette, Eddie just sighing in defeat. 

They went quiet as Richie smoked away contently. Eddie watched him, the cherry embers flickering with each pull he took. He watched the way Richie’s lips sucked the butt and then blew out a haze of smoke, away from Eddie’s face of course. His friend may be an asshole but he could be a considerate asshole nevertheless . He hadn’t noticed how intensely he had been watching Richie, his mind a flurry of nothing thoughts, until his eyes met the other darker pair.

Really he should’ve looked away or said something or smiled or done anything. Instead he kept staring, eyes not leaving Richie’s. He picked up on the way Richie hesitated between drags and and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed spit. He trailed his eyes down to Richie’s mouth again as he resumed taking quick uneven puffs. 

“You know you’re staring at me?” It was Richie who cracked first, tone unsure and a little self-conscious. “Or is it my…what was it you called it? Cancer sticks right? You’re staring awful hard Eds. You wanna try?”

“Something like that.” Eddie said so quietly he wasn’t sure if he had been heard. He sat their for a few more seconds contemplating something in his head before he spoke again. “Come here.”

“Okay?” Richie manoeuvred his way towards Eddie who was in turn, setting himself up on his knees. When Richie got close enough he went to offer the last of the tab to the notorious anti-smoker that was Eddie Kaspbrak. To his shock Eddie reached forward, his thumb and index fingers pinching the cigarette. 

“Yeah, I didn’t mean this.” With that Eddie threw the butt towards the waters edge, not looking to see where it fell.

“Fuck you, that’s my last-“ Richie was cut off by two hands grabbing his cheeks. Had it happened any slower he would’ve sworn or told Eddie to fuck off but he didn’t have time to manage that because Eddie was kissing him. His eyes went wide and for a second he almost leant into the pair of weirdly smooth lips. Kissing a dude however, was a bit too gay so he pulled back. “Eds, what the fuck man?”

“What?” Eddie said, unbelievably innocent.

“What do you mean what? You just kissed me!” Richie was saying animatedly.

“Yeah? So?” Again he just blinked back at his bespectacled friend, epitome of innocence.

“Well Eds, I don’t know if you know this but that’s pretty fucking gay.” Richie was tempted to laugh.

“Fuck off, we’ve done worse. Besides it’s not a big deal. I just wanted to try it.” 

“Well thanks for the fucking heads up. You know I don’t care if you want to get each other off again but you can’t just go kissing me, it’s too weird.” Richie was stumbling over his words and waving his hands. Eddie however, was not listening. 

“I don’t want to get off though, I just fancy making out.” Richie really did laugh at that because it was all so ridiculous. His straight best friend who was always banging on about aids and germs and all that cooties crap, was there on his knees asking to kiss him. “It’s not a big deal, Rich. If you don’t want to it’s fine.”

“I mean, Eds, come on. What am I supposed to say in this situation?” He was very confused as to why Eddie even wanted to and worse still, why he really wasn’t all that opposed to the idea anyway. It’s not like they had ever kissed before now. Sure they had jerked each other off but that was just a bit of fun. Wasn’t kissing supposed to be for boyfriends and girlfriends or old people? He didn’t have all that much experience kissing people. 

“I mean, ideally you could just keep your mouth shut and we could make out for a bit.” Richie moaned at that a cross between a chuckle and a desperate or at least exasperated exhale.

“Shit, Eddie, you can’t just say stuff like that.” He ran a hand through his hair, the curls tangled and frizzy. “I don’t know, this is super weird Eds.”

The admission of the fact that Richie didn’t know was enough to give Eddie the confidence to make a second move. He leant in again, this time slower, bringing his hand up to the back of Richie’s neck. He felt Richie push against the pull of his hand for a second but ultimately he seemed to give up. It wasn’t that Richie particularly wanted to kiss Eddie but he supposed it didn’t really bother him either way. Eddie was probably just looking for a bit of a kick or a rush like the one they got in the hammock. He supposed it was better than getting his dick out.

When their mouths met again it was almost hungry. There was no façade or pretence. It wasn’t romantic and it wasn’t intimate it was just full of a shit ton of heat. Eddie met Richie’s lips with a kind of pressure Richie had never felt before. He’d kissed a couple of girls in his time but none of them challenged him like this.

Eddie, as in general, was bossy and controlling when it came to his day to day activities. It seemed he was just the same when it came to kissing. Richie followed the pace he set obediently and was surprised to find he rather enjoyed the sensation of making out with his best friend. It was weird as hell but a good kind of weird that made his stomach jolt. He got off on the idea that they really shouldn’t be doing this. In a way it had him more turned on than his cock being toyed with like a joystick. 

Eddie for all his apparent confidence was crumbling inside. He knew he wasn’t a homo, he just knew. Even so, the effect of Richie licking into his mouth both startled and exhilarated him and he found himself following suit. It was weird but not in the way where it felt odd or abnormal. In all respects the kissing felt almost normal, like they should’ve been doing this all this time. For all his shit talk about Richie having a Trashmouth, he couldn’t help but think it was infuriatingly delicious. 

“Good, this feels good.” Richie whispered against Eddie’s cheek as he parted from him and took in a deep, shaking breath. “Fuck, Eds this is really not a good idea.”

“Shut up asshole.” It seemed like he was now incapable of filtering out what he actually wanted (a normal platonic relationship with one of his oldest male friends) and what his body seemed to really fucking want (to keep making out with this ridiculously tall man with his stupid glasses and big mouth). 

Deciding that it would be better if he changed positions, his knees beginning to pulse angrily, Eddie found himself plopping down on Richie’s crossed legs. His bum slotted into the gap between his thighs and his own legs wrapped around Richie’s waist. 

“Hey shit-for-brains, you’re making this look a whole lot worse.” It wasn’t exactly telling him to stop and Eddie really didn’t think he could at this point. “Fuck, Eds. Shit, you’re not supposed to turn me on like this.” 

“I turn you on?” There was a smirk on his face and a raised eyebrow that, considering he was in Richie’s lap and they were less than twenty centimetres apart from each other’s faces, was all too tempting to wipe away.

“Oh, get over yourself.” It could have been Eddie who leant back in first but he was pretty sure it was Richie. It was definitely Richie who gripped his arse first, Eddie preferring to put his hands in Richie’s hair. He started feeling dizzy, little pants coming in burst between periods of making out. At one point Eddie had to consciously stop his body from the small grinding circles he had began making with his hips. Richie too had to bite his lip and stop tonguing Eddie so as to clam himself down, his hips too freely rutting up into Eddie’s crotch. 

“Jesus Richie, how the hell did you get this good? You’ve got no game at all. You must practice on the back of your hand.” It was so like Eddie to take a shot at him while they were doing something as crazy stupid as this, that he just laughed and rolled his eyes.

“I’ve got no game? Dude, that says a lot about how desperate your mum is then.” Now he knew an ill timed ‘your mum’ joke would earn him some sort of a bollocking but he had not been anticipating the sharp tug of his hair. God, he liked that. He liked that too fucking much. For the third time in his pathetic excuse for a life, Eddie Kaspbrak had gotten Richie hard. “Fuck, bellend why would you-“

“Shut up Richie. Just shut up.” 

Ravenous by this point Eddie felt himself rub against the hard lump in his friends shorts, the towel long forgotten and their torsos still bare. Eddie had to keep his eyes closed else he feared he’d take in Richie’s breastless body and find he didn’t mind that the dick he was rutting against and the body of the person he was making out with were very much real and definitely not feminine.

“Eds, we gotta stop. I can’t, fuck, I can’t.” Richie had moved his arms up from his friends arse to his shoulders, his forearms pressed against Eddie’s back and long fingers hooked on his shoulders. Why did he get such a kick from those stupid fucking fingers?

“Yeah you’re-“ Apparently it didn’t matter that he had been about to tell Richie he was right and that they should stop. That he knew he would come just from this because it was just so filthy and he loved the guilt and the stale taste of tobacco and the grinding. That it was so far past the point of okay. 

Richie had other plans. Acting on nothing but instinct, he pushed Eddie back into the dirt, his hands holding the back of Eddie’s head like a protective layer against the sand. Eddie kept his legs around Richie’s waist as the taller boy began to hump against him, that consuming, itching heat returning. They began sloppily kissing again, still not over the new sensations ability to make their minds turn blank. 

Soon they were both panting and gasping into each other’s mouths, kissing and lips a second thought in comparison to the growing tightness as they got closer and closer to purgatory.

“Richie, Richie, Rich. I can’t…Rich.” 

“Shh, Eddie, it’s okay. Fuck, it’s okay.” 

It was no shock when he came. There was nothing surprising about Richie following not that long after. It didn’t surprise him when Richie sat up, knees held up by his elbows with his hands connected by his thumbs. Eddie stayed on his back, pushing his hair back. He sighed at the gross feeling in his pants then finally having got his breathing under control, he too sat up. 

He crossed his legs, placed his hands in his lap and let out a little huff. Richie stirred from whatever thought he had been lost in and glanced at him sideways. The movement was enough to make Eddie’s eye-line shift from the water to him. They took in each other’s disheveled appearances and in true fashion that was so characteristic of their friendship, began to giggle. 

“For fuck sake, you know you sound like girl when you spurt the ropes.” Richie said still laughing away.

“Yeah well you sound like a gorilla, all that fucking grunting.” Eddie was laughing too despite the fact he felt a little bit queasy. “Shit, that was-“

“Really fucking good?” While it was true that it had felt like that, Eddie had been aiming for really fucking dumb. Reckless even. “Jesus Eddie, old chap, I do believe that was the number one most finest thing I’ve ever felt in this here town.”

“Really? You’re gunna do the British guy now?” 

“Nah. Think you’re the only guy I’ll ever do Eds, no need to get jealous.” Eddie looked mortified his eyes wide and his mouth gaping just a little too much to pass as natural. 

“Hey jerk face, you can’t say crap like that.” Again Richie just laughed, punching Eddie’s arm like it was nothing.

“It’s fine Eds. It’s just us.” Could it really be that simple? That it was just them? That part of being just them was about getting each other off on a monthly basis. It just didn’t sit right with Eddie. 

“We should probably not do this from now on…” He was saying to Richie who had begun to shuffle in the soil, evidently uncomfortable at the feeling in his pants. 

“I mean I hadn’t been planning on making this a habit but you’re the one who wanted to make out sooo…” he had a point and Eddie hated that more than anything. 

“Yeah yeah Tozier, you’re the one who started trying to pin me like a dog so don’t give me that crap about it being all my fault.”

“It never is Eds, it never is.” Richie was saying almost sadly which made no sense to Eddie. He was about to ask what gives but Richie began to stand up. By the time he had got to his feet he had a smile plastered to his face once more. “Right, come on then.”

“Come on where?” Eddie asked.

“Well, we could sit here going over the whole ‘we can’t tell anyone’ and ‘doesn’t make us queer’ and ‘we aren’t doing this again after today’ but we already know that shit. How about, before it gets too dark, we go and have a quick dip in the quarry, clean up a bit then get you home before your mum has an aneurysm or whatever that thing you always say she’ll get is, sound good?” 

“I, I, umm, yeah that sounds real good. So we’re good?” Eddie fumbled to stand to his feet. Richie put out a supportive hand.

“Course we are Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Don’t call me that, dickwad!”

They were good. They always would be, Eddie was sure of that. He stopped his mind from worrying just yet and enjoyed the rest of their time at the quarry. If the water was a little cold and his cheeks still a little flushed, they didn’t have to talk about it. They didn’t have to talk about any of it. As long as they kept this a secret and never spoke of it again they would be just fine.


	3. Snowballs and Blueballs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of winter, in between snowballs and blueballs, Eddie realises ‘just us’ might be the problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all I would like to say a huge thank you for the support I have received, it really means a lot to hear from all of you! This chapter is introducing a new concept to the table. It’s time for a healthy dose of angst. As always, I hope you enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed writing it!

They were all circled around the Paul Bunyan statue like a satanic cult might enclose around a sacrifice. In the sharp sting of the icy air, their voices seemed to travel both slower and louder. It was as if every word said was performing a tricky acrobatic routine across the scape. Tumbling and curving over the on-fall of snowflakes, each flake a fine speck of dandruff, it took just a second longer for the words to reach the intended ears. 

On the ground their hundreds of footprints fanned around them, carved into the snow, their impressions left so deep you’d have thought they would remain there forever. It was a strange idea to think of them, fossilised and someday forgotten. That was the tragedy of youth Eddie supposed as his eyes briefly filtered over the tracks. 

When you are young you believe everything can last forever. As you grow, you are forced to come to the horrific realisation that everything is fleeting. Shaking his head Eddie offered the world a sad little smile before turning back in to the other Losers.

Taking in his surroundings he noticed that while Mike and Bev were opposite him, partially concealed by the statue, neither of them were armed. Bev was wrapped warm in several layers of self-knitted wools while Mike had on some borrowed goloshers and a hat that was perhaps a size too big.

Richie, who was on his team, was standing close by to Eddie in a horrendous getup that was alarming and hilarious. When they’d started the Snowball War Eddie had figured Richie’s terrible sight and inability to be all that serious would hinder him but was thankfully mistaken. Eddie let out a relived sigh as he took in Richie’s mitten-clad hands, both locked and loaded and ready for retaliation. 

Stan, master of many games and slayer of many jokes, was crouching by Bill’s moronically exposed ankles looking far happier since his steady girlfriend had made her exit a few hours earlier. It seemed he had created and was continuing to supply an arsenal of perfectly sculpted pellets. 

Bill who was holding two, looked satisfied at his partner’s handiwork. Clearly he assumed that Richie, standing a few feet to his right, was no match for him.

It was Ben who caused Eddie to want to laugh. He was stood near to Bunyan’s left flank and had both open palms held up in a pitiful surrender, currently pleading with Bill to pardon him for his earlier infringement (a snowball aimed to the back of his head).

“Let’s all stay calm. There’s no need for this.” Bev was calling out in an earnest, verging on desperate, voice.

“Yeah guys, lets all be cool. It doesn’t have to be this way.” Mike said soothingly, his hands also being held up in good faith. Copying Bev and Ben like that would have any sway on the sadist that was Stanley Fucking Uris.

“That’s interesting Miss Marsh, you didn’t seem to feel that way earlier when you blasted ice balls at my arse.” Richie shot back to the red head with a smile that looked almost sardonic. 

“Gotta agree with Trashmouth on this one, guys. I don’t remember you feeling this way when you hit me in the eye, Mike!” Stan chimed in accusatorially, a noticeable blue shadow cast over his right eye. Bill was smirking next to him lightly, tossing the ball up into the air and letting it drop into his bare hands. Mike was waving his hands like he didn’t know what Stan was referring to, eyes pleading with Bill to have mercy.

“It seems to me, Mikey Mike, you’ve gone from ballsy to no balls at all. I hope you’ve made peace with whatever higher being you cry to at night.” If Richie hadn’t been copying Bill by gently tossing one of the balls of snow in his hand, Mike might have had something to say in response. As it was he was looking wonderfully timid, his beanie lopsided and nose running.

“He’s not Stan. Balls or not we can take you butt pirates anyday!” Bev dropped in, finally looking like she had enough fire to defend both of them against the oncoming slaughter.

“Nice Bev. Real nice.” Stan said in answer to the unnecessary jibe, beginning to make a snowball with her name on it. 

“You’re asking for it you scarlet witch you! I’ll show you balls, girly!” Richie wailed cutting over Stan and his slightly disgruntled pout.

“You don’t want Richie’s balls you don’t know where they’ve been!” Ben jested in a voice that had a suspicious hint of jealousy lacing the edges. Richie aimed and pretended to throw a ball at Ben who flinched and shielded his body from the impact only to realise Richie hadn’t actually thrown it. His cheeks turned red and he looked embarrassed.

“Please, if Richie has any balls, I’m sure Eddie’s the only one he’d care to share them with.” Bev said laughing from her position some feet away from a now fuming hypochondriac.

“I’m pretty sure Eddie doesn’t discuss my balls with his mum. I know she loves them but-“ Stopping him in his new rendition of ‘I slept with your mum’ joke, Richie hissed. Out of nowhere he felt a large clump of compacted snow hit his the sternum. As he looked around for his attacker, expecting to see Stan or Bill, he looked astounded when he realised his own team mate, his Eddie, had turned on him. “What the fuck Eds! That’s blue on blue. How could you do this to me? Shit, is it but a scratch?” 

“Talk about my mum again Dickwad, see what happens.” And really, Eddie had to know it was petty. It wasn’t necessary as Richie made hundreds of those jokes a day but he couldn’t resist. It was a cheap shot but he smiled proudly at the numerous cheers and laughs.

“Eddie, it’s so cold. The lights are fading. Is this it? Goodbye cruel world. Eddie before I die I want you to...” Richie had fallen dramatically to his knees, gripping his chest where the snowball had hit and feigning pain. “Tell you’re mother she’s an excellent notch on my bedpost.” 

“Beep beep, Richie. You know what no, fuck this! Can I have a new partner?” As Eddie began trying to make his case and the others were distracted listening to the two start quarrelling, Bill took his shot. There was a loud cry that caused them all to cut off mid-sentences and turn their heads towards the dream team.

“Ow, what the fuck?” Stan was looking up at Bill with a look that screamed betrayal. “Bill, why?”

“Every man f-f-for himself!” 

Springing into action, balls of snow compressed so hard they might as well be bullets flew left right and centre some ricocheting off of the Bunyan statue and spraying over the nearest bodies.

Richie had army crawled away, dragging his body through the snow leaving a snail like line in his wake. Eddie despite having turned on Richie still managed to get a good hit on Big Bill who was pelting Richie’s back with multiple balls. 

Stan was screeching a wicked laugh as Ben, Bev and Mike cowered in front of him, shaking as they were pelted again and again. 

“Eds, start rolling me some bloody ammo would ya?” Richie hollered. “The enemy is upon us and the kill order is in!”

“I’m a little fucking busy, Sergeant. How about you start fighting back fuckface?” Eddie responded, still busy trying to fend off Bill and now Ben who had made a break from Stan and was starting to fight back on his other side.

“What’s the matter Trashmouth?” Stan called over the ruckus. “Not so confident without Eddie to be your shield?”

This was a reference to earlier during the day when Richie had used a squealing Eddie as a human shield. The protests were of course followed up by a play-fight that ended up with Eddie straddling Richie’s butt using his hand to press that all too talkative mouth into the snow. 

“You want to talk about shields, Uris?” Richie challenged, no doubt referring to Stan’s girlfriend who had complained about being too cold before leaving. The other losers however could have sworn it was more to do with Richie’s reception than the weather.

“Enough talk, Dickie, time to put your-“ They never found out what exactly it was time for or where Richie was putting something. In the few seconds they’d taken to have their back and forth, Bev and Mike had gathered enough snow to fire towards Stan, hitting him in the arm and successfully catching him off guard.

It went on like this for hours. Eddie wished it could be forever. Wished he didn’t have to worry about his mother ushering him in the door like he would die of hypothermia or come down with a chronic case of frostbite. He wished he didn’t have to worry about the way his heart fluttered when Richie shrouded his body protectively over his as the torrent of never ceasing snowballs pelted him. 

He wished he hadn’t noticed the way Richie’s breathe hitched at each pulse of mild pain, the way he grunted and cursed as he took that pain on for Eddie. He wished Richie could do that for him. Take on the pain he felt in his head. He knew it was ridiculous; knew that asking Richie to do that would be like asking a virus to make him feel better.

“It’s okay Eds, we can do this.” 

It made Eddie want to scream behind his façade of a smile. Made him want to shout and yell and cry because it was the only way he might be able to let go of the tension that dug itself in his chest when he took those words out of the current context and told himself that they meant something more. That everything would or, by the very least, could be okay. That he wasn’t going to spend the rest of his days being a perverted and scared loser.

He didn’t scream. He didn’t yell. He didn’t cry. Instead he pushed it all down, way down. Instead he threw snowballs and caught snowflakes on his tongue and made snow angels. Surrounded by his friends he hoped that maybe this was enough. He wished it could be enough.

Later when the lights got too low and the ice too cold he followed Richie back to his. If their hands brushed lightly against each other’s on the walk back, they didn’t have to mention it.

…..

“Do you, dear Edwardo, want any hot chocolate?” Richie asked as he stood by the kitchen sink, filling up a kettle. Eddie who had been using Richie’s towel to dry his damp, rat tailed hair, looked up at him with a cocked eyebrow.

“What the hell is that? Do you mean cocoa?” It was more teasing than condescending so Richie took no real offence but shot an insult back nevertheless.

“No, you uncultured swine, I meant to say hot chocolate. If one means to say cocoa, one would have said that to begin with.” Richie announced in his most British of accents, his hair all kinds of crazy after his warm shower.

“So that’s a yes. You mean cocoa.” Eddie deadpanned. He threw the towel over his shoulder and placed a hand on his hip. He didn’t notice the way Richie’s cheeks flushed lightly, his eyes taking in the sight of the towel on Eddie’s shoulders. The last time he’d seen it there had been a couple of months ago when they…well that was enough of that Richie decided as he quickly huffed out some air. Honestly he thought he was passed all that thinking crap.

“Sometimes, Eds, I don’t know why I bother with you.” Eddie just grinned and sent him a wink. It was a symbol of how far they’d come since they were little kids. Back in the day – a strange term for someone as young as Richie to use yet one he felt almost entitled to use now – they would’ve both carried on taunting and goading each other, not sure how to sit in silence for longer than a minute. Now it was just as comfortable to say nothing. That’s not to say they didn’t get off insulting and toying with the other’s sensibilities. But sometimes the quiet was nice.

Richie continued faffing around with boiling the water and mixing in the weird chocolate powder, the same powder Bev had dared him to snort two summers ago. Eddie watched him, not really looking so much as following. Every movement made would be met with his eyes moving slightly but his mind was in a whole other space.

“One steaming cup of nature’s finest for the best partner in the whole wide west.” Eddie rolled his eyes at Richie’s Texan accent that probably counted as some sort of violation, it was that tragic.

“You know your geography is so bad.” He hummed at Richie, that same fondness wrapped around each chuckle. “We are not even close to the West.”

“Hey, what I lack in geography I make up for in Chemistry, am I right?” Wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and raising his hand in the air, Richie looked so proud it wasn’t decent. Eddie, despite himself, flushed a shade of red he wished he hadn’t, the satisfaction on his friend’s face too much for him. 

Honestly, Richie had to stop doing this. He kept making subtle references to their ‘special alone time’ since the day it happened. Eddie wanted desperately to forget about it. It’s not like getting off via your best friends cock is a normal thing for a guy to do. Jesus, it wasn’t normal by anyone’s standards. The thoughts from earlier were back, the familiar tension rising oppressively once more.

“I’m not high diving you for that, you turd.” Richie sighed like Eddie had just told him he would have to kill a killer clown or something. Eddie rolled his eyes as Richie dropped his gangly limb and pouted. As if this idiot was the source of his early life crisis Eddie thought benignly to himself.

“Fair is fair.” Eddie smiled at him but it was distant and not for the first time Richie wondered what was going on in that strange little head of his. “You gunna take this or do you want me to hold it all darn day?”

“Oh sorry. I see three mugs, didn’t know which was mine.” Eddie shot back coming out of his reverie to make a pathetic joke that even he himself knew was a terrible attempt at a pun.

“You know what, Eds, whichever mug you want, you can have. All-llll yours Eddiebear.” Richie was doing that stupid smirk behind his stupid glasses and Eddie really wanted to snap at him to stop offering himself out like some common whore. He had heard him loud and clear the first three hundred times. Why did Richie keep insisting on baiting Eddie? Did he want a third try? Was that it?

“Shut up, Richie.” He was not going to be played with like this. He knew as well as Richie did that they had both, for whatever reason, wanted it both times. He also knew, like Richie, that they were playing with fire. There was not enough aloe Vera in the world, let alone his mother’s supply cabinet that would be able to help them with those kind of burns. As if being able to hear snippets of his thoughts, Richie interrupted his thoughts.

“Here you can have this one, but be careful. It’s really fucking hot.”

“You or the chocolate?” Eddie shot earning him a dramatic eye-roll and an exaggerated fake laugh.

“Ha ha ha. Oh wow. You’re so funny.” Sarcasm rich in his voice, Richie couldn’t seem to hide a faint blush creeping up his neck.

“One of us has to be.” Eddie said, his hands snuggling into the warmth like a snake to a heat pad.

“In all serious though, Eddie, it’s really hot.” It was spoken tenderly, the tone a stark contrast to the teasing conversation they’d been having. Richie was watching closely as Eddie took the mug from him.

“It’s okay, I’ll be careful Rich.” He said his voice soft and his heart beating fast. He knew Richie was watching him, the oversized mug gripped securely in his small hands. As he went to take a sip, Richie stepped closer putting his own cup on the side quickly using his free hand to hold Eddie’s arm and pull the cup from his lips.

“Eds, not yet you’ll burn your mouth.” Eddie’s heart began to pound harder as Richie’s hand gripped his forearm. He looked up at Richie, the height difference feeling all too noticeable in such close proximity. “You’ve got to blow it.” 

“It being the hot chocolate or you?” Eddie said daringly. It wasn’t in his nature to seduce. He had urges alright. Urges that came and went. It was mostly when he remembered the Quarry or that night when they’d stayed in the Clubhouse. Sometimes he touched himself to the thought of those sensations. In fact, every time he thought about those sensations and let himself get off he thought about Richie. That was the whole problem. 

Recently he couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to put Richie’s cock in his mouth. He’d talked to Stan about what he and his girlfriend had done and the idea of doing that, putting that part of Richie into his mouth, was something that deeply unnerved him. 

It had been on his mind for about a week. Tinkering with his sanity, everything was made so much harder by the simple fact he couldn’t stop imagining Richie. That was surely edging into no-mans land though. It was not friends helping friends so much as it was Eddie performing a sick and unnatural act on a man who he had a very disjointed set of relationships with.

Eddie wasn’t even altogether sure why this urge was so strong and unrelenting and he had told himself he’d rather die than put Richie’s thing in any of his orifices, let alone the mouth he ate with. That was coming from his hygienic mind set. 

The other mind set, the one that his libido controlled, wanted nothing more than to have it thick and salty in his mouth. The thought of how dirty it was? Well that just made it more intense. Maybe that was why he was exercising his tongue more than usual. God he shouldn’t have said anything!

“Eds...” Richie was staring at him hard. Eddie was refusing to make eye contact. “Eddie.”

“I don’t know why I said that...” He trailed off because sorry felt too false and anything else would be like willingly flinging himself off a cliff. 

“Eddie. Let’s be clear. If I was asking you to blow me, I would not be so obvious.” Richie started not entirely sure whether to diffuse or infuse the conversation. “As much as I like your help with the old ham hammering, you don’t want this meat in your mouth Eds.”

“What if I said I did want it though? In my mouth…” Fire. Cheeks, body, dignity. All of it was going up in flames and his words were the smoking signal that really signposted how utterly fucked he was.

“You want to...Eds, put the hot chocolate down and look at me. You’ve just said you might want to suck my cock you can look at me in the fucking eyes.” Startled by the serious tone that was not suited to his loud-mouthed friend at all, Eddie blinked before tumbling over his own words.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad, Rich.” 

“I’m not mad. Just put down that stupid mug and look at me.” Finally acquiescing, Eddie placed the Gremlins cup on the counter, clenching and un-clenching his fists in nervous, controlled spasms of anxiety.

“Okay.” He now squeaked having followed the behest completely, eyes finding Richie’s. 

“Was that so hard?” The comic asked patronisingly.

“Richie.” He didn’t get to finish what he was going to say. 

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen Edwardo. We are going to go up to my room. I’m going to kiss the shit out of you, okay? I don’t care if it’s gay, I don’t care if we said we wouldn’t, I just don’t care. You want to suck on my nuts and lick my cock, then that’s what’s gunna happen.”

“Richie. Fuck, Rich.” It was so filthy, the words so much like grime, it made him convulse slightly. He let his nails dig into the flesh of his palms as he tried to reconcile the part of his brain that was screaming unclean with the part that whimpered something akin to arousal.

God, it was so frustrating to have one siren going ‘AIDS, Saturn’s Big Cock, floozy!” and another going “Inexperienced, could bite his dick off, might fall in love!” Every word overlapping and being joined by worse thoughts. Tears pricked his eyes p, threatening to fall down his face.

“No time for those waterworks.” His taller friend said as he placed himself in-front of the other.

“But Richie-“ Snuffling pathetically, he was well aware that he had never been this vulnerable and weak in front of anyone but his mother. He snaked his arms around the slim waist before him and sighed at the grounding effect it had. 

“No buts Eds. It’s really simple. You want my cock in your mouth or not?” There goes the ground again.

“God don’t say it like that.” He pulled away and studied Richie’s face to see if he was teasing him.

“Not a no. So you want my cock in your mouth and I want your mouth on my cock. So what’s the problem?” How could he keep talking about this so matter of factly like it wasn’t something they should be worrying about? A one time thing had turned into a two time thing and, third times the charm, it would now just be a thing.

“Richie you just said it. I want your cock in my mouth. That’s...that makes me...” Tensing, he hissed at the crescent shapes sliced further into his skin.

“Eddie. It doesn’t make you anything. You’re overthinking it.” 

“Maybe we should think about this...” Foolishly, he forgot he was talking to the same guy who had convinced him his teacher was a werewolf in eighth grade (not his fault okay, the guy looked like Michael J Fox).

“I don’t want to Eds. I’m not a philosopher. Do I look like fucking aristotal or whatever that dudes name is?” … “I’m done with all this thinking Eds. All I seem to do is think about why I shouldn’t kiss you again or touch you again and I cannot be fucked with it all. Can’t I just get my dick sucked and not have to have an existential crisis every time?” 

“So, like, you have thought about it?” Was it possible Richie thought about it in the way he did? Not just as a way to take the piss out of him further but as something he wanted to do again.

“What kinda stupid ass question is that?” Oh…

“You know, you’re such an asshole.” He was using his hands, swiping them in downward karate motions as if that would make his words carry more weight or ohmf.

“I know.” And he kissed him. Like a kiss from a crappy rom-com scene, it was light and chaste. Eddie looked at him as if to say ‘what the fuck kinda girly ass kiss do you call that Trashmouth’. He didn’t want soft or emotional, he wanted sloppy and rough and heated like before. He wanted dirty trash out Tozier.

“Fuck, Richie, you’re supposed to be the one to tell me you don’t want to fool around. That I’m wrong for even asking to do that.” He said instead of making it obvious he was disappointed by what Richie had put on the table.

“Eddie let’s get something clear.”…“This isn’t fooling around. I’m not saying I want anything and I’m not saying I feel anything more for you than I feel for any of the other losers. Don’t go getting some girly crush on me or anything but I’m not fooling here. My cards are on the table, this is something I want. I really want to do whatever it is we want. I want this to be part of how we are with each other so we don’t have to go through this ball ache of a conversation every time we decide we fancy a sword fight.”

“Firstly, that’s very gay of you to say.” Eddie laughed, a shove in the stomach making him laugh that little bit more. “Secondly, what is it with you and referring to your dick as a sword?”

“Fuck off Mr LickMyBalls” Richie was pushing his hair out of his eyes, a smile plastered to that strange, wonderful face. “And, if you must know, I think it sounds more rugged than my baton or some french shit.”

“Are you retarded? You ever heard of a decent fucking nickname?” He poked Richie in the chest and shrieked as the other nipped at his sides with his fingers and thumbs. “Stop! If you want to call it that you go ahead, Mr Overcompensating Dooshbag.”

“How the hell is that better than Mr LickMyBalls? At least mine was accurate!” 

“Hmm, nope definitely overcompensating, maybe pen knife or something is more your style and, erm, size Rich.” Smirking at him with a shit eating grin, Eddie moved that little bit closer to Richie.

“Well they do say the pen is mightier than the sword.” Richie bantered, ignorant of how dark and hungry the smaller boy was looking at him.

“You know what, you need to stop talking now.” Eddie said as he used one hand to hold onto his waist and let the other snake up Richie’s arm and rest at the nape of the beanstalk’s neck. God he was so tall.

“You going to make me or do I have to-“ 

Relief. The slamming, forceful pressure of those big warm, chocolate tinged lips on his was enough to make him want to shoot himself. From the wrongful thoughts to the cautious ones, his mind was abuzz with a wonderful deficit of coherency as he relished in the kiss. It was nothing and everything; right and wrong; needed and not necessary. 

Betwixt those limber thighs and captured by thin, scraggly arms Eddie felt sure. He wanted to lick and tease and suck every part of Richie that he was allowed, the world be fucking damned. He wanted to pull the curls so hard they became straight; make-out till the lack of oxygen killed him. He wanted Richie. It was primal and it was logical. There was no one like Richie. 

No one could make him feel as out of touch with himself, make him feel crazy and disgusting, then piece him back together like he knew every part of him so well it was effortless. Smooching and frenching, none of it was enough. He felt the moment he decided to drop to his knees, knew it was coming. Mid-motion he was sure of himself, this is what he wanted right now. Then suddenly,

“Richard! Honey, I’m home!” 

Fuck.

Pushing Eddie away with more force than necessary, Richie scrambled to compose himself. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and turned his back. Eddie could only stand there shocked and blinking trying to steady his breathing, wrapping the oversized towel around himself in the hopes the corners would help conceal his half-chub as Mrs Tozier entered the kitchen. 

“Richie, sweetheart, your father- oh hello Edward my love. I’m sorry dear I didn’t know you were here. Are you staying round tonight?” Blushing Eddie looked hopelessly at Richie’s back.

“Err…I was just, um…”

“He’s not staying.” Richie said, cutting off the hypochondriac and turning to face his mother. “We are actually sleeping round Bill’s tonight mum.”

Eddie frowned, confused and more than a little uncomfortable.

“Oh well, okay sweetheart. I wish you had told me earlier, I had planned to make cobbler tonight.”

“Yeah, sorry mum, last minute plans and all of that. We are actually just gunna grab some things and then we’ll be off.” Richie didn’t bat and eyelid as the lies tumbled convincingly out of mouth. The same mouth that had been pressed against his moments ago. Eddie wondered if it was always so easy for him to lie. Wondered if he lied to him. 

“Alright sweetheart, be sure to send his parents our best, won’t you?” Richie nodded, abandoning the mug on the side and pulling Eddie out of the kitchen by his wrist, barely allowing him time to say a quick goodbye. 

“Come on Eds.” 

“Where are we going Rich? Bill’s isn’t until next week.” They had reached the stairs now and Richie still hadn’t looked at him. As they ascended, he spoke in a calm, promising voice.

“We have unfinished business Eddie.” 

Oh. Oh so…oh. God Eddie hoped he would regret this.


	4. Smelting Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Richie learn that having your cake and eating can often be difficult to achieve when faced with the truths and restrictions of reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all your Reddie needs. 
> 
> As always, this is not beta’d (think that’s what you call it) so I do apologise if there are any mistakes. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think and whether you’d like to see more!

Richie Tozier was not the sort of person to have a ‘boy-neat’ or even ‘boy-acceptably messy’ room. No, much like his character, his room had a sort of chaotic charm about it. Odourless, but nevertheless alarming.

The room itself was dimly lit by a lamp-less bulb that hung from a thick white cable above. Scattered across the paisley print wallpaper were haphazardly placed posters sporting various Rock’n’Roll bands. Richie would rather rot in a vat of acid piss than take them down, despite his mother’s pleads. 

No matter what anyone said Richie knew, as sure as the grass was green and as sure as Bowers was a bitch, Rock music was omnipotent. Ben, the foolish peasant that he was, often tried to convert Richie to the other side triggering their ‘little disagreements’, as Mike had coined them. 

Honestly, Richie doubted he’d ever be able to come up with a better joke than Ben’s opinion on music. In fact, as far has Richie was concerned, Ben (who had a New Kids on the Block poster hung up on his door) had no leg to stand on. Anytime the subject was broached Richie would sing-song ‘Call it what you like, Haystack. A shit band is a shit band. What’cha gonna do?”

Besides the posters, wooden book shelves were intermittently nailed to the walls, filling the gaps in a sort of asymmetrical pattern. Though far less controversial, they homed a few curiously named books and trinkets that included a small birds skull, a rock with a hole in it and a phallic shaped device that looked tribal in origin. Most of the space, however, was taken up by Richie’s impressive and intimidating collection of records - he was not the self-proclaimed ‘Records Tozier’ for nothing.

While the walls were cluttered and crowded, there was surprisingly little furniture adorning the rectangular room. There was a bed, a chest of draws, a bedside table with yet more draws and a desk over by the singular window.

For an A grade student the wooden desk he owned, that had stickers - some half peeled off leaving white-grey backing behind – and pen marks hiding gouges in the surface, was scarcely used. Instead, Richie’s prized record player sat atop the neglected table, a center piece that was nearly always churning out some sort of racket, much to Maggie and Wentworth Toziers’ dismay.

The record player was a second-hand ‘steal’ that Richie had spent over two years saving up for. With chore money from mowing the lawns and the extra cash he got from a weekly paper round slowly accruing, he finally managed to convince ol’ Mr Nell to sell him the Philips player after a week of what Richie called hard-ball negotiations. These negotiates consisted predominantly of Richie begging and pleading with the constable until he eventually conceded.

Richie had gotten not only an earful but a clip to the back of the ear for that one. Apparently, saving up for something was just as ‘reckless’ as spending all his money in the arcade. He swore that there was no pleasing his parents sometimes. 

Truth be told it was one of the very few things Richie owned, besides maybe the stack of comics he kept under his bed, that he was truly proud of. It was his. He had earned it fair and square and boy had it been worth every penny. If Richie couldn’t listen to his records, he was sure he’d be driven dogshit.

The rest of the room was layered with a healthy amount of dust, clothes or crumpled bits of paper. No matter how much his mother made desperate attempts to clean the room, Went had insisted that she ‘Leave the boy alone, for Christ’s sake woman!’ because Richie was practically a man that ‘Needs his own god damn space’. He found this particularly amusing because apparently he was man enough to not clean his room but too young to stay at home on his own. That being said this was the one time Richie wasn’t all that opposed to his father’s gospel-esq decrees.

The only thing (besides the record player that was now jamming out Joan Jett & The Blackhearts) that was kept in consistently good order was the bed. It was a single bed which had a plain wooden frame, understated and unremarkable. On the bed were subtle floral sheets giving it a strangely feminine feel that seemed to contradict the rest of the room. If not for the fact the sheets themselves were actually his elder cousin El’s old bed covers, then simply because they were made up; corners hospital tucked and matching pillows plumped. 

Eddie, who was no stranger to the jumble that was Richie’s room, felt a migraine coming on at the persistent urge to open a window and dust every square inch of the painfully disorganised pit. He felt quite sympathetic towards Richie’s mother, understanding all too well how stubborn Richie was and how impossible he was to convince to do anything he didn’t want to do.

Fighting against the urge to comment on the state of the place, Eddie took a tentative seat on the bed. Carefully watching his best friend whiz around the room, somehow finding whatever it was he was looking for amidst the mess. Sitting there, Eddie wondered how long he could last before he had to say something. 

It wasn’t like he truly wanted to stop Richie from whatever scheme he’d concocted, considering the outcome it might possibly have, but he had to be rational. It, this strange desire to burn in Hell together, had been allowed to go on too long. Really, the whole situation had knocked him for a loop and there was no easy fix or surgery that could mend what was psychologically or physiologically wrong with him and apparently Richie too.

“Rich, what are you doing?” He finally mustered the courage to talk, sighing as Richie continued rummaging through a draw in his beside table. If Eddie didn’t know any better he would think his friend was choosing not to acknowledge him as he refused to so much as glance back.

“You what, Eds?” Came Richie after a moment in an old (presumably half-deaf) man voice, probably not really all that interested in hearing what his friend had to say. He knew Eddie well enough to know that he was changing his mind right about now. 

“I said what are you doing, dipshit? What are you planning?” Richie must have heard the name because he flipped him the bird, still rooting about with his other free hand. 

Richie was, in perfect contrast to him, wild and messy and silly. Rather than follow any pre-ordained social conventions, he was sloppy when it came to curtesy and ignorant when it came to being polite. Eddie was none of those things: he was tame and clean and reasonable. 

If he thought about it for too long, as he sometimes did in the seconds before sleep, he knew that really he and Richie were not all that dissimilar. The only difference was that he was chained and caged; Richie was roaming in an enclosure. 

Eddie often wondered if his mother’s pills, placebos and protection from his own intimations of freedom were to blame for this. He wondered if he would be braver (like Richie or Big Bill) if his mother had not been around to keep him safe in her own sort of way.

“You’re gunna have to speak up, son!” Richie called back, still not looking over as he hunted for whatever it was he was looking for. “Actually, do me a favour and turn down the volume, can’t hear for shit.”

“Oh yeah sure, anything else you want me to do for you? You know how I live to serve your lame ass.” Eddie realised after having said it that Richie wouldn’t be able to hear his sass anyway so conceded to acquiesce to the request. 

Getting gingerly to his feet, he toppled over the clothes and paper, cringing as his foot touched a pair of Richie’s spent pants that looked like the same pair he had worn at the quarry a few months ago.

Reaching the desk he studied the player before him trying to assess which knob was responsible for the volume. Before now, Richie hadn’t let him anywhere near his precious baby. 

Eventually after a few erroneous attempts he figured out which one to twiddle, the blaring music became a welcome hum. Richie finally looked up, something square and metallic briefly on show before it disappeared into the bag he was packing. He looked at Eddie who was looking at him in turn.

“Cheers Spaghetti, now what wos it you wos sayin’ kid?” The New Yorker Voice shouted back at him, a random choice that really pushed the boundaries of the listener’s imagination, the accent not quite mastered yet.

“I was asking what you were doing, asshole? What are you trying to pull here Rich?” Now, Eddie knew exactly what (or who) Richie was trying to pull but the plan and details for how he intended to do that were what concerned him.

“Ain’t pulling nothing jus’ yet kid, not tills we get to the house, you see?” The Voice this time was so jumbled with dialects even Eddie, who was somewhat a master at identifying what the intended accent was supposed to be, couldn’t place it.

This is what gave the game away. Eddie could now recognise the nervous energy for what it was. It was not quite fear but something close to it. When Richie was unsure about something he would flit about using voices and jokes to suppress the uncertainty. When he got like this Eddie knew he could not be trusted to make a sensible choice.

“Can you quit it with the voices. I’m serious. What’s your play here Rich?” He placed a hand on his hip, standing by the record player and tapping his foot expectantly. In situations like this, he did well to be stern. “If we’re not going to Bill’s, and there’s no fucking way we are going to mine, where is it you plan on going, huh? You know it’s freezing cold outside? That we could get frost bite or hypothermia or something out there?”

“Oh, come on Eds, don’t give me that. I’ll keep you warm, kid. Live a little would you?” Richie was now walking over to Eddie with a grin on his face. Unfortunately Eddie was taking none of his bullshit.

“That’s precisely the problem, retard, we go out there and we won’t be living much longer! Do you realise that you could get influenza or meningitis or-“

“Do me a favour Doctor K. It’s not that cold jeez. We can go to the clubhouse, there’s blankets there from the other day.” Richie said, a kind of sobriety lacing his words to counter the increasingly panicked shrill of the hypochondriac.

Now just a few feet in front of Eddie, the electric field that had buzzed around them earlier whirred back into existence. Eddie tried to lean away from Richie in fear he would stop being the realistic one and let himself be convinced of do something that would result in their death…or worse.

“I knew it. I knew that’s what you were thinking.” It was said almost gleefully but his tone was mostly incredulous at how stupid Richie could be for someone supposedly smart. “You realise there’s no heat in the clubhouse this time of year. Like, are you retarded? You wanna end up dead?”

“You know Eds,” Richie pinched Eddie’s cheek “You’re real cute when you worry about me dying.”

“Fuck you!” Eddie hissed, slapping Richie’s hand away. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

“Aw I’m sorry Eddie-kins. You come with me tonight and those won’t be the only cheeks I’m pinching.” Richie really was terrible at reading signals, not aware of the way Eddie prickled at that.

“Don’t fucking touch me. I’m not going to that death trap with you. Uh-uh, no way.”

“Don’t be such a scaredy-cat Edward! It will be fun! Look, I promise I’ll keep you nice and warm.” The most he got was a shove and an eye roll.

“I’m sorry, did you not hear me when I said freezing? Oh but I forgot, if it’s fun the weather will just let us off the hook, right? ‘Cause that’s how science fucking works. What part about me not wanting to get frost bite on my dick are you having trouble understanding? If you want yours to fall off be my fucking guest but there is no way you’re going to get me to go down there.” Eddie was jabbing his finger into the hallow just below Richie’s sternum, this only causing him to smirk more. 

Trust Richie to consider this flirting.

“Oh come on Eds, you know you’d be super bummed if my wang fell off.” He winked at Eddie completely impervious to the current vibe. Every seductive attempt only served to work Eddie up more, and not in a good way.

“You know what, you’re impossible. I’m not listening to you anymore. There’s no fucking way I’m going to risk my life for you and you can bet your fur on that Rich.” 

At the back of his mind a voice seemed to nag and niggle at his subconscious, something that seemed to remind him that he would do and perhaps, maybe in another life, had done just that. It was a thought as thin as smoke, the moment he tried to grasp it, it was gone.

“So how are we going to clear up our unfinished business Eddie, huh? You’re really telling me,” Richie shuffled into Eddie’s personal space, forcing his head up to meet those lens-clad eyes. “You don’t want to finish what you started?”

Eddie was about to respond with some quip about not being a needy little slut who would get on his knees for him like the girls in those magazines Richie liked to ogle, when he was once again stopped in his tracks by the voice of Maggie Tozier. This woman had terrible timing he thought unashamedly to himself.

“Richard! You’re father’s home, can you come down here please?” Her voice carried in a way that only a mother’s could.

Eddie saw Richie’s shoulders stiffen and the fire he’d been about to spew sizzled out on his tongue. He was looking right up at his friends face and he saw the ghost of a grimace cross his over those familiar features. He gave a deflective eye roll and shrug towards Eddie.

“Guess, I gotta go see what the old man wants. I’ll be back in a sec.” Breaking the current, Richie quickly walked away, shutting his bedroom door behind him and charging down the stairs.

Below the floorboards Eddie could make out muffled voices, the deep baritone of Wentworth and the soprano shrill of Maggie seeping through every so often. Richie, from what Eddie could hear, barely spoke. The only time he could distinctly hear his friend was when the voices started to rise. Feeling his stomach churn slightly, Eddie hoped Richie wouldn’t let his mouth run away from him.

Eventually the voices softened and Eddie stopped wringing his hands anxiously. A little while after - Richie had been downstairs for about ten minutes – The boy re-emerged looking glum. He hobbled over to Eddie and plastered on a smile.

“So, good news and bad news, Mr President. Good news is Papa Whiskey said I don’t live in no hotel, can’t be coming and going as I see fit. You get your wish. There’ll be no rendezvous tonight.” The frankly absurd (almost Elvis-like) security guard impersonation made Eddie want to chuckle a good one. Despite himself, he was fond of the dramatic way his friend delivered news. 

“And the bad news?” Eddie asked putting on a half-arsed attempt at a voice so as to please Richie. His curly haired friend seemed to perk up at his involvement.

“Well Mr President, them Japs been lurking around late at night so yous are just gunna ‘ave to stay here tonight, per Papa Whiskey’s orders. Hope you like cobbler, Mr President.” 

“Richie.” Eddie said sternly, straight back to serious and breaking the shocking role-play Richie was employing to distract him from what he was saying. “Me staying here tonight is not a good idea.” 

“What, you worried your little virgin ass can’t resist all this?” Richie joked, breaking character and gesturing widely to his whole body.

“Richie, I’m serious. It’s just a bit…much? I mean, if my mum finds out I’ve done half the shit I’ve done with you, I’ll spend the next six months of my life at some weird Church camp getting exorcised.” 

He wished he was kidding.

It would send his mother’s cholesterol-ridden heart spiralling if she found out what kind of dirty things he and Richie got up to in the hidden places people didn’t bother to go. Heck, she’d probably lock him up just for going to those places, let alone for soiling himself in sin. He may be of age but he was certainly not able to enjoy the independence of adulthood he’d been led to believe he was entitled to.

“Oh come on Eds, it was just a joke. I know it’s the other way round. You’re just so cute, how could I ever resist you Eddiebear.” He tried to pinch Eddie’s cheek again but he was blocked by a quick whack to the forearm.

“Ouch. Alright, fine I get it.” Richie said cradling his freshly slapped arm. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I meant what I said earlier. I couldn’t give a flying fuck about whether or not other guys are as ‘close’ as we are. Like, I know most guys don’t normally have the kind of relationship we have Eds. Not that I want to do that kind of stuff with another guy because…well just because…I don’t know Eds it’s a weird one. If you’re gunna have a hissy fit though, we can cool it.”

“Rich, I’m not having a hissy fit. I’ve not changed my mind from earlier either, but come on. I’m not gunna risk causing my mum a heart attack because you want to get your rocks off.”

Richie pushed his glasses back up his nose and bit his lip. He was looking at Eddie thoughtfully, occasionally furrowing his brow in a light crease like he was becoming more and more frustrated. In the background ‘I hate myself for loving you’ was playing and Eddie watched Richie nod along subconsciously.

“Okay. I hear you Eddie. I get it but like, dude, come on. You’re talking like I’m gunna go balls deep in you if you stay round tonight.” Richie laughed, insincere but enough to dissipate some of the tension that had been charged around them. 

“So that wasn’t the reason you wanted to risk our lives?” Eddie raised his eyebrow, challenging Richie.

“I mean hey, maybe if we were there I might have asked if you wanted to follow through on what you’d said earlier but I’m not going to do that shit in my own house with my parents at home. Jesus, fuck Spaghetti you really think I’m gunna pull that crap? Unless…Oh I get it you’re into that. Cough. Slut. Cough.”

“Beep-beep Richie. God, you’re such an asshole.” Eddie said, far more relaxed than he had been a few minutes ago.

“I’m the asshole? You’re the one who was going to run home to mummy because you thought you were such hot shit, I wouldn’t be able to control myself around you.” Richie was saying as he leant into Eddie’s patch on the bed, the wood creaking in protest at the distribution of weight.

“You know that’s so not what I was getting at, dickwad.” Eddie had titled his head to the side, daring Richie to keep running that Trashmouth of his.

“Yeah yeah. Jesus I agreed to you sucking my dick, I didn’t say I had some undying love for you that meant I couldn’t resist myself around you. I mean seriously Eds, full of yourself much?” Richie was poking Eddie’s side, teasing and baiting. Eddie didn’t know whether to fold his arms grumpily or put them out to stop from being prodded like cattle.

“Piss off, Bucky Beaver.” Eddie said, eventually poking Richie back. Richie for all the names he called Eddie, looked furious that he (the guy he’d shared spit with) would bring up the nickname used to tormented him through-out primary.

“Hey, red card dude. Not cool.” Eddie chuckled, he knew Richie had been self-conscious about his teeth when he was a kid and the nickname had been used as a weapon against his self-confidence by kids like Patrick and Henry but he’d always thought it…endearing.

“Okay, fair. I take it back…” Richie was mumbling under his breath.

“You think you know a guy. Then he goes and stabs you in the back.”

“You know Rich, I never got the problem. I always thought your teeth looked fine.” Using his thumb and index finger to pinch Richie’s chin, Eddie pulled the pad of his thumb down dragging Richie’s bottom jaw open. “Back then I mean. Kind of…cute.”

There was a hint of red tainting Richie’s cheeks as he went from sloppy mumbling to silent and pliant under the smaller man’s touch. Eddie held him like that for a moment then let go of his chin. He gave a comforting smile, confirming that he honestly hadn’t been using the nickname maliciously. That he did mean what he said.

“Yeah well, you were the only one. I always hated them. Then the stupid nickname caught on. Honestly ‘Four Eyes Tozier’ was a welcome fucking change.” Richie croaked, a little taken aback by the reminder of something that had caused him years worth of humiliation. Something he had fought tooth and nail to repress.

“Bro, I get that. I always hate it when you call me Eds. Then again, when you started calling me Eddie Spaghetti I still wanted to wring your neck…Huh, must be nice to be moderately okay being called something.” Eddie said back, winking at his friend. 

Eddie was now sat facing Richie, one leg hanging off the bed, toes touching the floor. The other leg was crossed, his foot tucked under his bum. Richie was copying his position like they were divided by some kind of mirror. 

“Yeah yeah, you’re so hard done by.” Richie replied successfully pinching Eddie’s cheek.

“Fuck you, asshat. Do that again and I swear to god I’ll-“

“What? Suck my dick?” The look of pure satisfaction that crossed Richie’s face as Eddie launched into a rant about how much of a jerk he was was unbeatable. 

. . . . .

It wasn’t until Richie’s mother called them down for dinner that Eddie finally stopped yelling at his bastard of a best friend. At the table he had to pretend that he wasn’t seething at the way Richie was practically holding what he’d said, during a moment of vulnerability, against him.

As it turned out, answering questions about how his mother was and what his plans were for the holidays became a lot harder when the interrogator was the mother of the person he was currently plotting to murder. 

Richie was having a blast now that he knew he’d gotten Eddie back for the Bucky Beaver comment. When his father asked him what was so god damn funny, Richie shook his head and said something about a clown. His father muttered something about him needing to grow up but that was it. 

After dinner they helped clean up the dishes, Eddie splaying Richie with dishwater every time he came too near, them joking back and forth. When that was done he remembered to call his mother who squealed miserably down the phone that she had been worried sick and that he should have called the moment he got to ‘that boy’s’ house. Eddie stayed on the line for a solid five minutes like this, Richie pulling faces next to him in the hallway, listening to her sobs. 

When Sonia finally collected herself, she made attempts to get Eddie to come home right away. She insisted that he needed to take his medication and when that didn’t work she tried insisting that he couldn’t borrow someone else’s clothes in case he caught some sort of disease. Did Eddie know he could get AIDS like that? His stomach knotted at that and he forcefully told his mother that he was borrowing a pair of Richie’s pyjamas not some stranger from the YMCA; that Mrs Tozier had offered to wash his clothes for him; that he was safer there tonight and that she need not worry.

Naturally the problem then became that Eddie should not impose himself. This went on for another five minutes until Richie got Mrs Tozier on the phone to ensure Sonia that it was really no bother at all. Eventually, having depleted all of her arguments, his mother was forced to accept that Eddie would be staying at the Toziers’ tonight.

With the phone call from hell done and dusted with, Richie and Eddie made their way upstairs. They were reading comics, their indiscretions earlier completely done away with, when Maggie came to knock on the door. She moaned at the state of her son’s room and apologised to Eddie on his behalf. Richie grumbled in response, asking her what she wanted. 

She asked for any dirty washing. 

Eddie changed into a pair of Richie’s pyjamas: an alarming argyle textile on the bottoms and a long sleeved shirt that fell way past his hands. He gave the requested clothes to Mrs Tozier who had waited outside the bathroom for him. 

Double checking that Eddie was fine to sleep on the camp bed she had gotten Richie to set up, she dug a sleeping bag out from a cupboard in the laundry room. Having performed her motherly duties she told them that she and Mr Tozier were off to bed and for them not to stay up too late. 

They continued reading Avalon until they heard the light switches and the start of Went’s obnoxiously loud snoring. 

“You know Eds, for someone who didn’t want to stay round tonight, you sure did stick it to your mum.” Richie said breaking the comfortable silence they’d been sat in as he side eyed Eddie from behind the spread pages.

“Fuck you. Just couldn’t be asked to deal with her tonight.” Eddie reasoned, closing the comic he had been reading and rolling over on the firm camp bed. “Don’t let it go to your head, dickface.” 

“Mmmkay, if you say so.” Richie chimed back, turning the page and laughing at something. “I totally believe you, Eds.”

“Can you shut up, I’ve still not forgiven you for earlier.” He mumbled as he played with the extra fabric around his palms. “Have you got the latest issue or is this the last one?”

“Yeah, well maybe I haven’t forgiven you. Think you’ve traumatised me by bringing up that old nickname.” Goofing around, Richie pretended to cry before laughing as quietly as he could. 

“Good, I’ll keep calling you that if you bring up what I said before.” He threatened lobbing his, or rather Richie’s, pillow at said owner’s head. “Issue. Rich, yes or no?”

“Wow there friend let’s not lob pillows at this gorgeous money maker, hey. You’re going to trigger my PTSD. I can see snowballs flying towards me every time I shut my eyes, hey.” The Canadian accent was not appalling and the mention of earlier had Eddie smiling softly. 

“You got the latest one or not, maple man?” 

“Dude, I’m calling myself maple man from now on.” Richie declared looking very pleased with this new dubbing. “But no, I have to spend my money on important things like your mum’s pregnancy pills.” 

“Beep, beep Richie. You know you need to get some new material man. Those jokes are lammee.” 

“Funny you should say that; that’s what your mum said about your spunk-maker last night.” Richie had put the comic down and rolled over on his side giving Eddie a cheeky grin.

“That’s dis-gusting.” Eddie said as he pretended to barf, looking up at Richie and wondering how they were friends. He would not have to put up with half this crap with Stan or Bill. “Can you not talk about my balls?” 

“No can do Edvardo.” 

“Erg, you’re so annoying.” He said to Richie before motioning for him to pass back the pillow. “Anyway, I’m gunna go to bed, you good to turn out the light?”

“Lights, yes. Bed, no.” Richie called as he flung the pillow back, hitting Eddie’s arse as he sauntered over to the lights.

“Do I even want to know what that means?” He asked, standing by the switch, looking at Richie as he pulled off his glasses.

“Probably not.” Richie smiled, winking at Eddie without the magnified eyes. He looked different without his glasses.

“Okay then, not gunna ask.” And with that he turned off the light. The room submerged into welcome black. As he made it to the camp bed and shuffled into the sleeping bag, Eddie tried to slow his breathing.

“Night, Rich.” He called softly.

“Night, loser.” 

“Asshole.” 

. . . . .

The hard metal pole that held up the middle section of the bed was digging uncomfortably into Eddie’s spine as his consciousness swam back into existence. Shuffling sleepily, he rolled over on to his side, facing the bed to his left. 

Mentally he cursed at himself for the flurry of panicked thoughts that entered his head. Logically he knew he wouldn’t contract cerebral palsy or become a paraplegic from one night on a camp bed but his mind yelled this at him nevertheless. His thoughts were all laced in a voice that sounded eerily like his mother’s telling him he needed to sleep in his own bed for his health.

Trying to distract himself from the fictitious ailments he had created, Eddie only succeeded in bringing his mind further out of the state of sleep he had been in. Sniffing as his other senses caught up with his new found consciousness, Eddie pouted as a sound perforated his bubble of fret.

It was the unmistakable fapping sound that a young man, fresh out of the confines of puberty, knew all too well. At first it took him a moment to process, unsure why he was hearing that heated sound. For a moment, he foolishly considered whether it was him making the noise although he quickly absolved himself of any blame. Shock wore off to be replaced by umbrage. Really, he never.

“Rich…” He hissed into the darkness. Richie had a blackout blind so he could see very little, only aware of where to direct his voice due to his compass brain innately knowing which way was which.

“Go back to sleep Eds.” The breathy response replied.

“Rich are you…” Affronted now, Eddie made to sit up, keeping his voice to a bare whisper but not concealing his tone in the slightest. 

“Edward, do as your told, go back to sleep.” Richie was putting on his mother hen voice, the fapping sound desisting now. It was only in its absence that Eddie was completely sure what was causing it.

“Aw dude, that’s gross, you really couldn’t last one night.” Unbelievable. He tried to make out his friends face seeing little more than his outline. Richie was half-sat, half-laying, his back against the headboard. 

“Last one night, he says?” Richie, his voice also but a whisper, spoke to thin air in what he called his ‘breaking the fourth wall’ voice “Rubs up against me all day in the snow. Talks about sucking my dick. Kisses me like I’m going off to war. But yeah, sure, no it’s gross to need to let off some steam, ladies and gentlemen.”

“That doesn’t mean you do THAT while I’m in your room.” Eddie shot, clearly unamused. He felt a bit flustered, knowing that in some sick way this was on him. That being said, if it had been the other way round, he would never have tickled his pickle with Richie in his room and his mother across the hall.

“Do what? Oh you mean don’t touch myself thinking about you whilst your practically lying next to me.” Eddie gasped, utterly scandalised “Give over, Eds. Stop acting the victim, I’m having a wank not trying to desecrate your temple.”

“Oh my god.” Eddie kicked off his sleeping bag, standing to his feet, being sure to keep the noise to a minimum. “This is why I didn’t want to stay round tonight.”

“What because you knew I’d jerk off?” Richie asked, sitting upright now. “If you knew I was gunna do that, pray tell, why would you stay?”

“No, I knew you’d pull a stint like this.” Really it wasn’t a very good answer, Eddie feeling like prey in a snare. He had known something would happen, knew he had wanted it to. But now it was too real and he was scared.

“A stint like what? I popped a stiffie, how is that me pulling anything?” Taking a step closer to the bed, Eddie felt the cool lining of a comic underfoot. 

He didn’t know if he was going to hit Richie or castrate him. He wished he could see then he regretted thinking that immediately. His mind’s helpful attempt to fill in the blanks of just what he would see sent him reeling. Unsure if it was nausea or arousal, Eddie was certain he did not want to know.

“You know what you’re doing Rich.” It was accusatory. It was challenging.

“I’m not doing anything. All I wanted to do was have a nice wank because my best mate has left me with blue balls and all I can think about is the fact we didn’t get to follow through on the stuff we said earlier.” Trash-fucking-mouth, Eddie lamented, his skin feeling tight.

“That’s it, you’re doing it right now.” Coming out a bit loud, he lowered his voice quickly “What about that stuff you said earlier?”

“Hey, I never said I wasn’t allowed to beat the meat in my own room.” Richie’s quiet, almost teasing voice said.

“Richie.” Warning, Eddie took another step till he felt the frame against his shins. He could just about make out the lanky form of his friend. Target in sight.

“Can you stop being so dramatic for like two seconds.” Richie moaned.

“I’m not being dramatic.” Defending himself through clenched teeth, he was on the edge of murdering him.

“Then can you put the whole condescending thing on hold?” Condescending! How dare he, Eddie thought to himself as he made to whack the lump below him.

Of course, the problem with trying to assault Richie is that he knew him better than anyone. Sometimes this was a good thing, like when they played Pictionary with the losers. More often than not, however it was a bad thing because it allowed Richie to anticipate his every move.

Before he could make contact, his wrist was pinched firmly by long slim fingers. With a yank and a tug he fell forward, hurtling on to the single bed with as much decorum as a someone tumbling down a well. 

“Richie what the fuck.” Eddie was hissing as he tried to right himself, Richie’s firm grip pulling him flush against him. Thankfully the fall hadn’t interrupted the thick snores from the hall.

“You know, you’ve really got to stop hitting me.” Richie mumbled, pulling Eddie so he was laying the same way as Richie, body all but planked against the other’s.

“Richie, I swear to god if you-“

“Why do we keep going round in circles, Eds?” The sudden softness of Richie’s voice and the way his fingers brushed the back of Eddie’s elbows, the ones he was using to prop himself up with, halted his angry whisper-escapade.

“Richie.” The name caught in his throat and he hated himself for it. Parting his leg he let them straddle the body underneath him, for both their comfort.

“Forget it.” He seemed to snap out of his thoughts, no longer caressing but patting Eddie’s elbows instead. Clearing his throat as quietly as he could, he said: “I’m sorry, Eds.”

“Rich, you don’t have to be sorry. You just need to start thinking with your head and not your dick, man.” To punctuate his point, Eddie poked what was supposed to be Richie’s forehead but ended being his eyebrow.

“Hey, this was a joint effort between them.” Richie chortled, pushing a hand through Eddie’s hair in retaliation. As the nails dragged over his scalp, Eddie had to bite his lip. Now that the anger had gone he was starting to take note of their position. Too much note.

“Richie.” Eddie whispered, leaning in to the hand as it moved to cup his cheek.

“Eddie, I think that-“

Cutting Richie off mid sentence, Eddie pushed himself against him. Leaning down and smashing his lips against that stupid mouth, he relished the surprised sound of appreciation. Richie, for all his flaws, was a fantastic kisser. Eddie couldn’t get enough as he licked into him, hoping that if he focused hard enough he could drown out the alarm bells going off in his head.

Was he supposed to feel more with each kiss? Was this normal?

The narrative between them was changing. Before it had been curiosity and this perpetual desire but now…

Now Eddie felt something smelting in the heat. Something rough that had yet to be purified was crackling away, each little moan and desperate gasp for breath only lamenting this in Eddie’s mind.

The kiss was not hungry or predatory this time. It was needy and lustful but also comforting. The fear at what they were doing was there but the disgust at the act itself had gone. Eddie still wanted this; was worried he might never stop wanting this.

“Richie, hands.” 

As they kissed, the pace set languidly, Eddie felt his heart hammering through his veins. Slowly Richie moved to rest his hands on the swell of Eddie’s butt and it was then that he wished they weren’t separated by the bed sheets between them. 

Eddie had meant his tone to be cautionary, to stop the subtle advancements. Unfortunately, by calling his name he attached a face, a series of memories and a feeling to the kiss. It was potent and intoxicating. The smelting thing, hidden behind the walls of denial, found form in these thoughts.

“Richie.”

Tasting the word in his mouth as Richie moved his impatiently against Eddie’s, he tried to grasp at that thing. 

“Richie.” 

It sounded desperate now and the thoughts from earlier seemed to cast aside the thing, the ore, he knew was there. Breaking away, enough to feel only the shadow of lips on his, Eddie said:

“This was your plan all along wasn’t it.” Unsure of what he expected, the old James Bond impression was certainly not on his list. It was so Richie that Eddie’s breath hitched.

“Shut up and kiss me, bay-bee.”

So that’s what he did. Dragging Richie up by his nape, Eddie brought their torsos together. He carded his short fingers through the mane of hair, feeling the way Richie pressed his hands into his back.

Richie broke the kiss then, slowly peppering the expanse of skin leading towards his neck with little, urgent kisses. He sucked at the flesh by the column of his neck and Eddie keened at the sensation. Wrapping his forearms round Richie’s neck he panted into the air, chin pointed to the ceiling. His friend had pushed his hands up under Eddie’s - Richie’s – shirt and was scratching his waist.

Eddie went to let out a frustrated groan when he remembered where they were. Remembered why he had been opposed to this in the first place, something hard to do when it felt this good.

“Shit, what if your parents hear?” Richie let go of Eddie’s neck, Dracula pulled from his feast, to whisper back.

“It’s just kissing, we’re good.”

“What if it wasn’t,” Eddie pecked Richie’s lips, just about making them out in the dark. “Just kissing?”

Richie stopped then letting his hands fall to Eddie’s thighs, rubbing them soothingly.

“Eddie. We can’t do that here. I meant what I said earlier about not doing that here.”

“You were literally fucking your hand when I woke up.” Eddie responded sassily, not breaking contact at all.

“Eds that’s different, I know how to be quiet when I do that.” Placing a kiss on the exposed forearm to the side of his head, Richie let out a sigh. “I’ve never, you know, been given a bee-jay or whatever. I don’t know if I can be quiet. Especially not when it’s you.”

Eddie felt like he’d been slapped. The words ‘especially not when it’s you’ flared up in his mind, bold and insistent. The ore he’d been trying to identify suddenly found an identity. The thing that had been smelting away, it was this. This only meant anything because it was Richie. It was only this intense because it was Richie. He only wanted this because it was Richie.

“Fuck. Shit, right. You know, you might be right.” He let his arms drop down, the fingers on his thighs readily interlocking with his own, the pressure keeping them rooted. 

“Call ABC, Eddie Kaspbrak has just revealed Trashmouth Tozier might be talking sense.”

Eddie hushed him sharply letting go of one had to force it against that big mouth. Naturally, Richie being the cretin that he was, licked a big stripe over the palm with the rough of his tongue.

“Gross. Are you serious right now?”

Desperately wishing he had his sanitiser, Eddie realised the of the absurdity of that thought considering where that tongue had just been. Wiping the saliva on the chest below him, Eddie clocked that he was still crotch to crotch with Richie and all but recoiled.

“Shit, I should probably….” Eddie whispered as he retracted his fingers and dismounted Richie who let out a disappointed whine but did not go as far as to protest.

“Yeah, probably a good idea.” 

Eddie hummed something that sounded like an agreement. Fumbling in the dark for his sleeping bag he shuffled back into it, puffing out a breath he had been holding.

Eddie tried to process what had just happened. His skin tingled and his head felt fuzzy and light. He missed Richie’s touch already, addicted to the het it stirred in him. He considered what this meant for them.

It did not take long for the fapping sound to start again. This time, though, Eddie said nothing. When he heard Richie hiss out his name he decided this was just another little something that would stay between them as he reached down beneath the waistband of his – Richie’s – bottoms. 

Neither of them lasted long.

If Richie called out Eddie’s name and Eddie Richie’s they didn’t have to talk about it. They lay in contemplative silence the darkness and the mutual panting not being the only things they shared. 

Nothing was said for a while as they both tried to come to terms with what they had just done. It was different this time and Eddie knew that. Before it had happened spontaneously and there was a certain distance that they could put between themselves and blame. This time they knew it was something they had sought after having been dancing around it the whole day. 

Tiered and spent, Eddie prayed he knew what he was doing. Eventually, the braver of the two broke the silence.

“Hey, Eds, do you sometimes feel like you, I don’t know, can’t ever get enough of this?” 

There was silence as Eddie briefly wondered if Richie was able to read his mind.

“Sometimes.” He admitted.

There was a pause before Richie asked in a much less confident voice:

“Does it scare you?”

Following this there was a far longer silence. They were both way further apart than either of them wanted to be right now. Eddie missed Richie’s touch already. Missed being close to him in a multitude of ways.

Worryingly, they had never gambled their friendship on a desire that had no hope.Suppressing this thought, Eddie considered the question, turning over all the possible implications it had in his head.   
He thought about it it for a long time until the answer finally came to him. 

Eddie’s eyes were tiered, heavy and stinging sharply, and the last thing he remembered was his own whispered secret – one he wasn’t even sure Richie heard as they fell asleep.

“Always.”


	5. Lonely Loser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie had to be brave. Instead, Richie was dumb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richie is going through some things here... I had fun writing this one because it took on a slightly different tone than the other chapters. It explores the relationship between Stan and Richie a bit more, which is important for the next chapter so apologies for the lack of Eddie and Richie. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy and as always, please let me know what you think!

A week, by the virtue of relativity, can pass quickly. For the usual Tom, Dick or Harry, a week can seem like no time at all. It is simply part of the monotonous flatline that so often signifies the passing of time, the passing of life.

________

A week is capable of being surpassed by a fortnight, a month, a year or any other more significant amount of time one cares to list. It would seem that time is linear. Time carries on, unchanging and predictable, with each segment equal to the last. Indeed, that one little week can seem insignificant and easily forgotten as it becomes part of a larger scale. This is certainly true for most.

Sometimes, however, that week can become a…

____/\\__

…Blip. Like the same slow beat of a once arrested heart, one week can equate to the resuscitation of an entire life. It can be a moment apart from the dull and the foreseeable. It can symbolise the rejection of a straight line to death. Instead it can be an embrace of something more dynamic, something more meaningful and something altogether more exhilarating. One blip can turn into two and soon that person’s time on Earth can beat proudly.

With so much promise offered by these life altering blips, the space of time between them can feel much like the delayed beep of a VSM after mouth-to-mouth. Stricken with anxiety, anticipation and longing.

  
For Richie, those moments with Eddie felt like a blip. For each occasion that IT had happened, it felt like his heart had begun to beat desperately, decidedly not dormant. Without those moments he wondered if the tightness in his chest was indicative of an imminent cardiac arrest.

____/\\__/\\__/\\__

The fact of the matter was Eddie had barely spoken to him that morning after. He had stayed long enough to thank Richie’s mother for her hospitality and to put away the items he had borrowed.

  
Richie thought that maybe Eddie just wanted to go home and check his mother hadn’t gone psychotic after his light display of defiance the night before. Heck, he wouldn’t be surprised if Eddie hadn’t run off to take his pills.

  
Chalking it up to lousy manners, Richie spent the rest of the day thinking about cleaning his room. If he did clean it, he could use it as a peace offering for when Eddie next came round. Of course, after tossing a few pants into the laundry basket and stacking up a load of comic books from the floor and onto his bed, he then got distracted by said comic books. In the end his attempts to clean up his room seemed to have made more of a mess than anything else.

  
The next day, a Monday afternoon, Richie began to question the fact that Eddie had not called. It had not been that long at all so he was not worried or anything. It was just a bit strange. Knowing Eddie it was just his weird, round-about way of giving off some pseudo-impression of nonchalance.

  
God forbid Eddie show he was human and actually cared about his best friend.

By Tuesday evening, Richie wanted to be pissed at Eddie. It was a dick move to run off like that and then not call or come over or anything. That day he had anxiously awaited a phone call or a knock at the door. It wasn’t like Eds to stay mad at Richie, if he was mad that is.

On Wednesday, when at last a knock came, he barely managed to disguise his frustration when he opened the door to find a slightly damp Beverly standing before him. Cheeks flushed from the cold and a pack of Parliaments in her hand as an offering. Raising an eyebrow at her, she asked if he had any records she could borrow.

Reluctantly he had let her in, pocketing the smokes and gesturing for her to go upstairs. Normally he would have made an inappropriate joke that was, say, sexual in origin. That day, however, he didn’t feel like it, so he kept his mouth shut as she led the way up.

Beverly noticed his solemn demeanour as she flicked through the stacks of vinyl. She pressed for him to talk to her but the idea of letting anyone know made him feel nauseous. Not being one to overstep any boundaries, she sprawled on the unmade bed, nodding her head to the music and talking about a theory she and Bill had been discussing about Potatoes.

As she talked Richie took in the subtle curve of her breasts and soft angle of her chin. Richie loved Beverly. He, as he suspected all the boys had, loved Bev first. She had been his very first crush. More than that - in his mind at least – she had been his first date.

  
Of course, if Beverly was his first date then technically so was Ben. That thought made him reel and shut down at once. In fairness, it hadn’t been much of a date at all. Their horrific trip to the cinema had been…

  
Well that was strange Richie thought. He couldn’t remember for the life of him how it had been. The image of a werewolf and a big screen reeled in his memory like film off a projector. Fuzzy and temperamental.

How odd he thought briefly before returning his mind back to Beverley.

Regardless of his love for her and their not-date, Richie could barely hold a conversation with her right now. Without the other losers to fill in the gaps or Eddie to pad out the conversations with random facts it felt stilted. In a way it made him miss Eddie and the ease of their talks more.

Beverly, seeming to sense that Richie was in no mood to entertain, told him that he should come and hang out with the rest of them when he ‘felt better’. So, she thought he was sick? Well, maybe he was he thought bitterly but gave her a thumbs up all the same.

She left, a Queen record in hand, promising to be back around in a few days.

Richie waited. No one came to see him and he supposed that was for the best. When Richie went AWOL the losers left him to it. He was known to spend days on end locked up in his room practicing his Voices or over in the arcade re-living his younger days.

The same could be said for Eddie, at least in those first few days. None of their friends would bother to try for him, they had no reason to.

Richie had tried, of course he had, to get a hold of Eddie. In his head he had reasoned that maybe Eddie was waiting on Richie to call him.

When he got no answer, the phone ringing out, he suspected that Eddie might be in quarantine again. His crazy, bitch mother (the only appropriate title for her in Richie’s mind) had probably chained him to a bed and was injecting steroids up his arse or funnelling chlorine down his throat.

No doubt this was punishment for not coming home when he was told.

There was no way Eddie would go MIA like this without some sort of heads up. Well, no way unless Sonia Kaspbrak was involved. It wouldn’t be the first time and it would hardly be the last.

This was what Richie chose to tell himself and it was this story that the other losers adopted after Eddie hadn’t called on any of them in a week. A whole week.

Unlike Stan or Ben or Mike, Richie needed this story to be true. It had to be true because the other alternative was that Eddie was avoiding him.

Eddie was avoiding him because he had finally gone too far. He would have to admit that he had grossed Eddie out so much that he could no longer stand to be around him. If he accepted that then what else would he have to accept?

Was Eddie right to stay away from him?

In his head Richie had always pictured himself as this hilarious and successful bachelor with a great taste in music. He would get the hell out of Derry, earn some big bucks and be knee deep in pussy by the age of thirty, no commitment necessary. Nobody in their right mind would want to stay away from a guy like that.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

For starters Richie was no longer able to convince himself he wanted to fuck gorgeous women with big boobs and no names. The idea of pushing inside the warm melt of a blonde broad only served to make his cheeks flush in uncomfortable humiliation. When he tried to get off on the Sunday night, he couldn’t even raise the flag up a half mast. It was probably just anxiety, the point being that he’d never been with a woman, but he felt strange.

Before Eddie had kissed him, he’d always wondered what the big deal was about. All the romance crap the girls in his year used to whinge on about bored him senseless. In his view it was total bullshit. But that was no longer the case, was it? He had felt something. Like the nagging craving he got when the voice in his head started begging for another smoke, Richie’s mind now craved another bit of that contact.

Richie was terrified.

It was starting to become a lot harder to ignore those niggling truths that would surface with every other thought. One time, during the second week late at night, Richie was seasoning the salami when a dark and filthy thought crossed his mind.

  
In a sort of fever dream, Richie imagined his hand was Eddie’s tight heat snaring round his cock and damning him to the flames.

Shocking him so violently to the core, Richie found tears slipping down his face as he came harder than he ever had when imagining Greta or one of the other girls from school. Even as the tears fell, he scolded himself for being a cry baby, for being such a girl.

By the third week, Richie seemed to realise that he might have to address some of the thoughts. Eddie had been gone for so long that even the other Losers were beginning to miss him. The longer it went the more Richie thought about him. It did not make him a faggot to do this he conceded, he was only considering something. Considering wasn’t the same as being.

Richie felt nauseous.

How could he ever look his mother in the eyes again? Her only son wanted to…was considering a lifestyle that would leave her without grandchildren.

His father? Richie actually did throw up the day he allowed himself to think about how Wentworth Tozier would react to the idea that Richie wanted to…

It was too much, too quickly and Richie reverted to his tactics of repressing the thoughts. It didn’t work as well. It was as though Pandora had been using Richie’s brain as a box and it was now wide-fucking-open.

Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier is a fucking poof.

Pondering this as he listened to a bit of Bowie, Richie realised that maybe it wasn’t that cataclysmic.

  
This thing between them, it was like a sour crush. For all intents and purposes this was just a weird crush on his best friend ho just happened to be packing.  
He had never had a crush on a guy before; only a couple of chics in his years at school. When he got off it had always been to the thought of a nice pair of tits and sure it was now to thoughts of Eddie’s arse but that’s because the only person he’d gotten some from was Eddie.  
Eddie was his only point of reference so of course he was now thinking about him.

  
If anything, it would be a waste of a valuable resource if he didn’t use memory as well as imagination to indulge in pleasure.

  
If he just met up with someone else, fooled around for a bit, then he would be able to think about someone and something else.

  
This is how, after three weeks without seeing or hearing from Eddie, Richie decided he needed to shag a bird and move the hell on. Who better to ask than Stan The BirdMan?

…….

“Whey-up Stan-lee ya great prune!” Richie called, almost jovially through the letterbox of the Uris’ household. It was ten in the morning and Richie had cycled over before Stan had a chance to leave the house, he didn’t want to miss him by accident.

Now, normally, Richie would never do anything to actively piss off the Rockin’ Rabi but it was a Tuesday a few days before Christmas Day so he suspected Mr Uris would not be home.

  
As he stood waiting, knocking idly as his mind wandered, Richie took in the placid sight of the Uris household. It truly was cut from the same cloth as every other house in fucking Derry.

At the front of the house, the lawn was made up of two squares, neatly cut grass now covered in a layer of snow. Dividing the two squares was the shovelled, concrete path that led up to the steps of the unfussy porch.

On the porch was a bench that, in the summer, was decorated by striped pillows. Currently, it stood like a lone guardsman looking pitiful and misplaced. There was not much else save for the doormat that declared ‘Home Sweet Home’ which Richie was presently standing upon.

Usually, hanging from the roof in measured intervals, were domed flower baskets. These had been taken down due to the terrible weather and all that remained were big empty hooks like the kind you use to catch trout.

Richie couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of Mr Uris going dogshit at the sight of a load of mouldy trout hanging off his house, fins flapping in the wind.

Laughing at this he turned to face the door, taking in the ground floor. Lining the front of the house were a couple of standard windows that Mrs Uris, who was a creature devoted to privacy and modesty, had been sure to hang net curtains inside of.

The colour of the window frame wood and the worn pale paint gave the house a pallid complexion. With the hanging flower baskets and the veiled windows, Richie had always thought of Stanely’s home as the ‘Bride’.

When they were younger, he used to chime pathetic jokes about it being ‘always the house, never the bride’ and one time during a storm when the shingles on the roof had been blown right off, he not-so-helpfully remarked ‘by god it’s a runaway bride’.

The other boys used to groan at him for his sense of humour. Eddie, as he would, used to hit him and tell him he needed new material (some things never change).

Stanley never really seemed to have a problem with the nickname until Richie started using it to refer to his girlfriend as well. Apparently, when asked why he called her that too, the right answer was not ‘Because she’s got as much personality as that house’. Mike had had to pull Stanley off of Richie for that one.

In his mind it was true though. Just like the Uris Household, neat and proper though it was, this girlfriend of Stanley’s was like every other girl in fucking Derry. Surely Stan could appreciate how plain she was?

Richie was pulled out of his reverie by the sudden awareness that his knuckle was beginning to hurt. He knew Stan couldn’t leave him stood outside too much longer, so he kept tap, tap, tapping at the door.

Sure enough, a grumpy looking Stan opened the door a few minutes later, hair tousled and a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms on. They were fitted at the waist band, dropping in a straight leg down to his ankles, wrapping loosely around his calves.

For someone who had just woken up he looked good, put together even.

“What do you want, Richie?” He sighed as he scratched absently at his bare chest. The nipples were small, hard nubs in the cold air; his stomach muscles tensed and toned at the temperature.

“Cat got your shirt, BirdMan?” Richie whooped in reply as he let out a well-practiced wolf whistle. “Somebody has been hitting the old Gym-gym-jaroo, I see. Bow-Chicka-Wow-wa StanTheMuscleMan over here.”

Richie, it is important to be clear, was not checking Stan out. His eyes were merely appreciatively assessing Stan’s physique as he himself was not as toned. Stan had always been lean and well postured but now he looked fit and casual and it was a different look.

Richie thought this look looked better on him then the one he usually wore (the classic stick up his arse).

Richie liked to poke fun at Stan because Stan never seemed to care. He could tell that he tiered old Stanley-boy out on occasion, the typical eye-roll always telling him as much. They really couldn’t be further from each other in terms of personality, mannerisms, likes, dislikes…

Come to think of it, it was amazing he and Stan had maintained such a solid friendship over the years. Of course, there was always something that kept them from killing each other, if the other losers were around it was one of them.

It wasn’t respect and it certainly wasn’t understanding. It was most accurately thought of as a unique fondness for the chaos or stability that the other brought. Even as Richie teased and annoyed Stan, he could never displace that strange attachment.

Despite himself Stan gave a tiny little smirk, shaking his head and pretending to be above Richie’s ramblings. Richie taking the opportunity to invade gave him a quick tap on the tummy and strutted right on in past Stan.

Hunching over and blowing out a huff of air at the contact, Stan swore then proceeded to narrow his eyes at the dashed bike. Knowing his stares would do no good, he sighed again and slowly shut the door.

“You busy?” Richie was asking as he kicked off his scuffed and damp trainers (he knew what the rules were by now).  
Inside the house appeared every bit the blushing virgin bride as outside. Unlike is own home which his mother remarked was a ‘constant battle’ to keep clean, the Uris home always looked effortlessly so.

The rooms were dusted and hoovered every other day. Everything was put back where it came from. Nothing crooked ever seemed to stay that way for longer than a moment in this household.  
It was a rule that shoes were only allowed to be worn in the tiled hall. Richie never understood why he couldn’t wear them in the kitchen as well but he never argued with Mrs Uris. By the front door was a hip-high cupboard filled with shoes and placed ‘just so’ on top was a shoe rack for guests and wet shoes to sit.

Richie, although willing to take his shoes off for the sake of the carpets – not to keep them clean but because he liked to feel them squish softly beneath his feet – never troubled himself with the simple motion of picking up the shoes and placing them on the rack.

“Would it matter if I said I was busy, Rich?” Stanly asked right back as he bent over to grab the soaked shoes and line them up neatly on the guest rack, habit long since instilling the motion in him. Habit and his mother’s firm spanks when he was a boy.

“I mean it might. If you had to cancel on Bill not a problem but that Bride of yours? Whollleeee other story, hey pal.” Winking cheekily, Richie led himself into to the kitchen, assuming his friend would follow.

Stan did follow, of course, not wanting to let Richie roam his parent’s house unsupervised. Biting his tongue and choosing not to comment Stan decided not to broach the subject of his friend’s unexplained vendetta against his girlfriend. He had stayed up late reading the night before and was still tiered (despite normally being up two hours earlier).

“Bold of you to assume I’d cancel plans for you, Trashmouth.” Stan said instead from behind Richie, not neglecting to roll his eyes as Richie faux-gasped and spun to look at him both hands on his cheeks and his mouth in a comical O.

“You mean to say I’m not the most important thing in your life?” Laughing at the finger Stan gave him, Richie sauntered over to the fridge, opening it and casting a glance inside. “You not got any juice?”

“Most annoying maybe.” Stan shot back watching his mess of a friend raid his Mum’s newly stocked groceries, his eyes not missing the alarming coloured socks Richie had on and the large hole in said socks. “Yeah sure Rich, go ahead, help yourself.”

Clearly Richie, who was now holding a carton of orange juice and a pot of yoghurt, hadn’t noticed the sarcastic tone. It was probably that damn selective-hearing Mrs Tozier was always talking about when they went round Richie’s, Stan thought.

The kitchen, much like the rest of the Uris household looked like a snapshot out of a 1950s housewife magazine. For any desperate housewife he imagined this was their wet dream.  
The cupboards matched the tiles, everything from the eggs to the butter had a special little holder with labels printed in elegant scripture on the side. Richie supposed this was in case you forgot what the fuck the butter looked like, a common problem he was sure.

The oven was spotless, the draining board on the sink was empty and the fridge itself was void of any magnets or shopping lists.

Looking out onto the back garden, the stretched window offered a scene straight off a Christmas card. Unlike Richie’s garden, the layer of snow was mostly untouched. It was clear that no snow angels or snowmen were welcome at this inn.

In the top right-hand side of the garden was a complicated bird table which had a trail of footprints leading to and from the feeder, straight to the backdoor. Evidently the sign of human life in the Uris back garden was permitted, so long as it was to feed the Rockin’ Robin.

Richie wondered if Stan had levelled up. Had he gone from obsessive voyeur of birds to feeder of the tits? Really, Stan’s obsession with birds had always confuddled him. What was so great about watching birds anyway?

For Richie, he didn’t like birds all that much at all. They were free to fly off wherever they wanted and some of them chose to live out their days in fucking Derry. Talk about bird-brain ideas.  
If it wasn’t Stan who fed the birds, it must be one of his parents. Perhaps that’s where Stan picked up his weird hobby. Richie thought over all this as he peeled back the lid of the blackcurrant yoghurt.

“I swear your tastebuds are broken.” Stan mused, handing Richie a glass pre-emptively from the cabinet to Richie’s left. Stan, knowing Richie, knew he’d drink straight from the carton and then who knows what kind of infections his family would be privy to. “Use the glass, Rich.”

“I was going too.” Richie drawled back taking the glass and pouring himself a helping. They both knew full well he had had no intention of using the glass as he slurped down the pot of yoghurt in between glugs of Orange Juice.

“So, what do I owe this honour?” Stan enquired, taking the juice and pouring himself a glass too. Naturally, he put the juice back in the fridge before taking a sip. He was well trained afterall. “I’m assuming this morning call was not so you could raid my fridge.”

“Wow, sharp as ever ol’ boy. Nothing gets past you does it Stan.” Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand leaving traces of the lilac yoghurt behind, he laughed as he saw Stan turn up his nose. “You gunna grab a shirt?”

“Huh?” Said Stan his eyes still focused on Richie’s hand, his nose ever so slightly scrunched up.

“A shirt. You going to put one on or do I have to fight the urge not to comment on that shockingly hairless chest the whole time?” Richie joked, a strange shade to his cheeks and flittering eyes that Stan rarely saw from his friend.

“Stop perving on my chest and tell me what you want Rich.” Richie took his chance to down his orange juice and pinch one of Stan’s exposed nipples.  
Stanley yelled in surprise and protest as he choked around the glass he’d just raised to his mouth. Richie laughed and moved away, over to the bin where he could drop the empty pot.

“Fuck you. I just was wondering if you could set me up with someone?” Stan looked like he was about to have a go at Richie, but the question seemed to stun him out of anger and into pure confusion.

“What, like on a date?” He asked with wide eyes.

“Yeah, why not? Could be a laugh?” Richie said back, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, his toes tapping on the floor.

“You came all the way to my house, at this time and ask me if I can…” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose in true Stanley fashion. “Richie, what the fuck?”

“What? What’s wrong with that?” Richie exclaimed, raising his arms defensively.

“I haven’t seen you in like at least a week and randomly invite yourself over and start acting weird.” Stanley folded his arms, straightened a leg and began wagging his foot expectantly. Richie didn’t get the big deal.

“Yeah and?” Apparently, this wasn’t the right response because Stan shook his head, muttered unbelievable and then made to storm off. Sensing this Richie tried a new tact. “Aww did Staniel miss me?”

“Not at all. What I meant was you go all this time without seeing me just to waltz up here and act like you haven’t.” Was Stan offended? Should he have called first? It was better to try the usual tact of humour, Richie decided.

“See that’s not true, I’m more of a salsa guy myself, not really a waltz fan.” Wrong tact.

“Really Richie?” Stan looked suddenly very angry and Richie was reminded of the time they were kids and he had played a prank on him that involved a ball, a stick and lots of glue. Did Stan think Richie was playing a prank by asking him if he could set him up on a date? Should he be offended that the idea of him finding romance with some nice girl was so outside the realms of possibility that Stan would get mad at him?

“What? Oh come on, I was busy I didn’t think you’d be this bothered.” It was true, in the time he had been worrying about Eddie and their…situation? He had not thought to check in with Stan and update him on, what, his existence?

“I’m not bothered, I’m pissed Rich.” Richie raised his hands as if to say, ‘what the fuck?’. What was the fucking difference?

“Why? I honestly don’t know what’s going on here.” It was true. He had no idea why Stanley was acting so affronted. Richie did weird things all the time, why was this any different?

“Look, it’s fine Rich.” Stan said, licking his tongue over his back teeth like he was holding some insult or name in. “Just, next time you and Eddie decide to just disappear for a while with no word of warning let me know. Don’t come back acting weird.”

“Okay first off, how am I being weird, you’re the one being weird now? Second off, I’m sorry I didn’t know you’d be…worried?” Really, Richie was dumbstruck now. It wasn’t fair of Stan to stand their and say that out of nowhere and to hold him responsible for Eddie as well.

“Richie you’re asking me to set you up on a date. You don’t do that sort of thing.” That stung a bit. Sure he didn’t ask Stan about girls or dates or anything but it wasn’t that hard to believe. Or did he like, everyone else, think he was a poof?

‘That sort of thing’ was not in relation to dating but perhaps to girls. He could hear the demons in his head, using Stan’s voice to cut deeper: ‘Date a girl? But you don’t do that sort of thing, Richie. By joe, didn’t you know? My dear, you’re all bent out of shape over a boy. A boy? Yes, that’s the sort of thing you do.’

Shut up, Richie thought to himself. He was being ridiculous. Calm down, he told himself as he bit back a sharp, quick-witted reply. Stan didn’t mean it like that.

“Yeah well, I want to start. What’s wrong with that?” He said instead. He looked at the ground then back up at Stan who had taken a step back in his direction, still shirtless but less angry now.

“Nothings wrong with it, I just…It doesn’t matter.” Stan trailed off, something caught on his tongue but years of experience clearly teaching him when to hold his fucking tongue. “Just don’t do that again, okay?”

“Do what?” Richie demanded, annoyed that he was being bargained with when he had had no hand in this peculiar interaction. He had just come over to ask a favour. He hadn’t expected to be scolded by one of his close friends for no bloody reason.

“Disappear without saying anything.” Stan mumbled.

“I didn’t disappear. Jeez you really were worried about me?” Richie sighed. He couldn’t understand it. It had never been a big deal before now. God, he sounded like Richie’s own internal monologuing when he hadn’t heard from Eddie in a while…Oh…

“I wasn’t worried it’s just you were gone and Eddie was gone and Bill and the others have all been hanging out without me because I-“ Stan broke off as tears spilled from his eyes. Richie hadn’t seen Stan cry very many times before.  
Richie hated seeing Stan cry.

“Shit. Stan, shit.” Rushing forward he took Stan up into his arms, hands coming up to grip Stan’s shoulders firmly. He might be a suspected poof but he hugged like a man – that is to say he was a firm hugger. “Come here, hey it’s fine. I’m fine, see. I’m right here.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Stan replied snottily into Richie’s shoulder. “Fuck.”

“Dude, it’s fine. I’m sorry I didn’t know you-“ He had been going to say ‘cared’ but he was cut off by an indignant Stanley before he could get the word out.

“I don’t, I’m not…” Stan groaned, squeezed Richie tighter, then pulled back. He looked miserable and embarrassed and frustrated. “God, I can’t explain it, Richie I thought something really bad had happened.”

Ah, so it wasn’t the same kind of worry Richie had thought it might have been. The same worry he felt when he thought about Eddie. He was worried Eddie was mad or upset at him; that Eddie was avoiding him. Stan wasn’t worried that Richie wouldn’t speak to him again but that something bad had happened to his friend. It wasn’t the same thing, he knew. What he didn’t know was why Stan felt this way.

“I didn’t realise you and Bev hadn’t seen each other. I thought she would’ve told you I was okay.” Richie offered out to Stan who was sniffing now.

“Sorry about the…crying.” Stan said.

“Hey man, happens to the best of us.” Richie comforted as he waved a blasé hand trying not to look to awkward.

“You were missing Rich. I just…you were missing.” It felt like there was some other meaning behind those words. Like him missing was a bigger deal, had bigger consequences, then he was aware of. Than he could remember.

“I mean I’m here now.” He shrugged.

“Richie I was, like, scared. I can’t remember being that scared but I think I must have been.” Stan tried to explain. His eyes looked like they were pleading with Richie to comprehend the deep fear that had rooted itself in them. Richie didn’t understand though.

“Yeah, see, that makes no sense.” He laughed uncomfortably.

“Forget it.” Stanley sighed. “Tell anyone about this and I’ll come for you Trashmouth.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Stan the Man.” Richie said back because he knew Stan was only kidding. He wasn’t sure what had just happened but, in his gut, he felt like they’d both forget quickly enough.

For a second, just before Stanley invited him upstairs to his room, Richie thought he might have an inkling of the fear that possessed Stan just then.

By the time they were upstairs, and Stan had located a shirt, they’d both forgotten about the whole ‘missing’ thing.

How Odd.

“Have you spoken to Eddie?” Stan asked, as he gestured for Richie to pop a squat.

“Erm, Yeah. Yeah he’s good just on lock down at the moment.” Richie lied. He didn’t want to talk conspiracies with Stan right now. He came here for a reason and talking about Eddie wouldn’t help.

“Okay, cool.” Stanley nodded. “So, about that date, I’ll talk to Patricia and see if she knows anyone who might be interested.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Nice one!” Richie gave a fake smile and a thumbs up. “Just don’t ask anyone who acts too girly.”

Richie couldn’t be bothered to deal with a girl who was too sensitive. If he made a joke he didn’t want her to pull a Stan and start crying on his shoulder. Stan was looking at him curiously.

“Are you sure about this though, Rich?” Richie furrowed his brows. “I wasn’t kidding about what I said earlier, you asking to go on a date is a weird one. Thought you wanted to be a bachelor?”

“I’m a big boy now Staniel, gotta dip my toe in the water sometime.” Richie said answering the question just enough that Stanley would leave it alone.

“If you’re sure…” Stan posed finally.

“Sure as sure.” Richie grinned.

And that was that. That was how Richie got a date with a girl the following week.


	6. Without His Inhaler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under the right conditions, absence can make the heart grow fond. Under the wrong conditions, absence can drive you crazy and make you do something stupid like go on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments, kudos and critiques are very welcome. I hope you enjoy reading this and I promise Eddie is okay.

Two days had passed since Richie had asked Stan to set him up with someone. Two fucking days and Richie was losing his god-damn mind. If anyone overheard him, pacing around in his room, they’d think they had happened across a portal. Destination? Juniper Hill Frigging Asylum.

See, it was not just the various conversations he was having with himself that was driving him dogshit. No, talking and muttering to himself like a schizo straight outta Bedlam was not all that new for Richie. Someone who does as much palavering as he does, well, you’ve got to practice sometime. 

Richie’s problem was the Cold War conflict raging away in his head, benign but ridiculously terrifying. It was like he was living out a game of Street Fighter but instead of avatars there were two versions of Richie, his multiple personalities, battling it out. God, if only he could just KO himself and be done with it all.

ROUND 1, Begin!  
For this round, Richie would try to convince himself that some random date with some random-ass chic was not going to suddenly make things okay. He was not a fan of this superego bullshit.

He was probably one pickle-tickling session away from compulsory enrolment in Masturbater’s Anonymous. His little turd of a best friend, the face of the Wank Bank of Richie’s only recognized tender, had decided to disappear off the face of the f-ing planet. 

What good was the classic ‘be true to yourself’ bullcrap when it put him out like this? For all intents and purposes, Richie had gone and walked his stupid ass right off a cliff. He was hanging, waiting and hoping that somehow Eddie would pull his head out of his arse and come save him. 

Obsessed with Eddie and completely obtuse as to why that was, Richie couldn’t understand how Eddie could leave him alone like this. It left him raw; vulnerable even. Afterall, when your mind feels like it’s having an asthma attack and you don’t have the inhaler that is your best friend, what do you do?

He’s pretty sure the first answer that springs to mind is not ‘go on a motherfucking date’. 

This time, Richie had no jokes or gags to throw back at the blatant truth of the matter. He hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t asked to feel this way. But now that he did, he couldn’t very well ignore that, could he? 

Going on a date would be as useful as the phrase ‘just breathe’ is to an asthmatic during an attack.

ROUND 2, Fight!

Hypothetically though, without Eddie around, maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to just go on a date. To just try to be normal for once. If anything, it would be a good way to waste some time.

Richie could paint on a smile and act like he was fine like it was nobody’s business. It was just like putting on a voice or playing a character. The theory was there, his id satisfied that he could pull off normal. Dating was a perfectly normal and healthy activity to partake in at his age. 

Who needs an inhaler when you can keep calm and carry on like mother nature always planned?

FINAL ROUND, Finish It!

Of course, Richie’s ego got in the way of everything and he found himself struggling to negotiate an armistice between the two personality. Dating to ignore his issues and facing his issues so he didn’t have to date; in this situation one choice was the US and the other was the USSR. His   
problem was trying to figure out which was which.

When Stan finally rang, Richie had half a mind to just scream down the phone. He didn’t do that though, instead he said “Yellow?” and let his friend talk him through the plan.

It was not much of plan in all honesty. There was a girl, a friend of Patricia’s called Sydney, who was willing to give this whole blind date thing a go. She was going to walk round to Richie’s for seven and then they would all walk to the cinema together – it was a double date because apparently Stan’s girlfriend didn’t trust Richie to play nicely.

Eighteen years old and he needed to be chaperoned by the Bride? Rude. 

If only to be polite, Richie told Stan that it was a ‘top notch bird man’ plan and that he couldn’t wait. 

He might also have mentioned something about charming the Prince-loving Panties off this girl which Stan was not pleased about. Apparently, there was even a strike system in place and if Richie said anything too filthy or vulgar, he got a strike. Three and he was ouuutttt of they-re.

He might as well just go fuck himself now.

……………

It was the day of the big night or, the night of the big day or, the day that the big night was part of or…. that was not the point. Richie was going on a date and it was sending him for a loop.

It was fast approaching seven o’clock and outside Derry no longer seemed concerned with its Pleasantville façade, the dark sky perfect for sin and sodomy. With the promise of damnation, as sure as that of snow, it hardly seemed appropriate to go on a first date. 

Not only did he have nothing boring enough to wear but he also felt like he was going to be spectacularly sick all over this girl. He kept picturing himself projectile vomiting over some Jan Brady look alike. He was so consumed by this; he didn’t hear his mother (two foot away) calling his name.

“Richard, honey, Stanley and the girls are here.” Presumably, from the exasperated tone, she had been calling his name for a while. Oops.

Swallowing, Richie pushed up the rim of his oversized glasses. He hadn’t even noticed the thick lenses slip down his nose, his sight going blurry.  
Currently stood gawking at himself in his parents’ room, he was using the long mirror to gage the suitability of his appearance. From the cavernous line cut between her two eyebrows, it was clear that Maggie had adjudged his outfit unsuitable. 

He met her eyes in the mirror and they couldn’t help but sort at each other. Richie never really had been good at dressing smart.

“I was going for Elvis meets Johnny Cash…” Richie tried to explain as he pulled nervously at the hemline of the egregious shirt. The blazer and Hawaiian combo he had on were less than a match made in heaven. He was pretty sure his outfit and his date would have that in common.

“Maybe a little less Elvis and a little more fashion?” Maggie said to her son, offering him a smile of encouragement that was met with an appreciative snort. Trust her to start with the puns in his time of crisis. She really was his mother.

Biting his lip, he turned to the bed where he had spread out several alarming button ups and a couple of his least offensive shirts. He looked desperately at his mother and shrugged helplessly.

Taking a look at the choices, she shook her head. After a little pouting and several hums, she grabbed the black button up Richie had worn once at his great-grandfather’s funeral. It was an old shirt that came up short on his arms. 

“Don’t be Cruel.” Maggie said, winking. “Let’s try not to hut the poor girls eyes on your first date.”

“Oh yeah, I love dressing like a Pallbearer. All the girls go crazy for the coffin couture.” Richie replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes but taking the shirt anyway.

He supposed it was better than going downstairs to face this girl clad in a pineapple print holiday shirt. Maybe the funeral getup was going to be more appropriate than he yet knew.

“Right, you cheeky muppet, put that shirt on. I’ll tell them you’ll be down in a two.” Maggie had been about to leave when her eyes travelled to his hair and she paused. “Maybe five.”

“Hey!” Maggie smiled again, patronising but supportive, and left him to change for what must have been the tenth bloody time that evening.  
He never had to worry about what he was wearing when he met up with the losers. Then again, he never had the possibility of getting some from the losers. Well, not from anyone but Eddie…

Feeling nauseous again, Richie shoved the shirt on, fiddled with his messy hair and took one final look in the mirror. Eventually, funeral attire on and clammy palms wiped firmly on his trousers, Richie made it downstairs.

Stanley was stood talking to Went looking about as uncomfortable as Richie felt. It looked like the father of the deceased was talking to a man who had only come to the funeral because he had been forced to. 

Patricia was nowhere in sight, not here to witness Richie’s wake. No, the only other person in attendance was the girl Richie was supposed to be seeing. Nervous though he was, he suspected this ‘Sydney’ girl was feeling far more apprehensive than he was. She certainly looked that way. 

Taking her in, he decided that Sydney was alright looking. She was tall and thin with pale skin and auburn hair that reminded Richie of Bev’s fiery bob. She had a slight crook in her nose and her eyes were an overindulgent blue. Really, there was nothing overtly unattractive about her. Cool.

According to Stan’s girlfriend, Sydney was ‘funny, smart and a bit too sassy’. He questioned the veracity of this having seen her standing like a priest in a whorehouse. Scratch that, a harlot in a Synagogue. Out of place and just hoping she didn’t burst into flames.

Coughing loudly, Richie thought it best to announce his presence and save his friend (see Eddie that’s what a good friend does, he thought snidely to himself). Stan whipped his head away from the conversation and over to the source of the noise. He had never seen Stan look so relived.

“Richie, hi.” He said, interrupting Wentworth and taking a step towards his friend. Went had paused mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open as he choked on his word. It had sounded suspiciously like he had been talking to Stanley about College.

Richie wanted to roll his eyes. He had been on at Richie about College for months now but was he really trying to tell Stan how to live his life to? 

The girl, Sydney, who had been watching the two men talk looked over too. For a moment her eyes betrayed a sense of panic but when she saw him the corners of her small mouth twitched, and her saw her shoulders dropped infinitesimally. 

“Hey, sorry about the wait…” Richie offered to them lamely.

He didn’t know whether to introduce himself to the girl, or let Stan introduce him, or if he should wait for the other female to return before addressing his date or what. For one of the very few times in his life, he was grateful for his father and his fake niceties.

“You should be.” Came his condescending voice, the epitome of 1950s patriarch. “Thought I taught you better than to keep a lady waiting.”

“Oh, by joe, you’re right Dad.” He drawled out the words with fake horror plastered over his face. He may be nervous, but he never passes up an opportunity to take the piss. “I am ever so sorry I kept you waiting, Staniel.” 

Despite his cheeky grin and exaggerated wink, he didn’t miss the way Wentworth’s smile faltered. Stan rolled his eyes and he heard the girl snort as he took a low, deep bow and kissed the back of his hand.

“Right, well…” His father gave an uncomfortable cough and looked apologetically to Sydney who was still grinning. Richie was sure he wanted to tell his son to stop acting like a fag or something, but they had company. Wentworth would never be so uncouth in front of company,

“Come off it, Rich. You ready to go?” Richie laughed and nodded. His Dad seemed to take that as his sign to try his last little bit of charm.

“Well, good luck young lady. You’ll have a handful with this one.” Richie did say ‘try’ right?

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be able to handle it.” Sydney replied, batting her eyelashes and smiling sweetly over in Richie’s direction. 

For all his misgivings about this date, Sydney was certainly coming across fine at the moment. He liked that voice of hers, feminine but lower than he had expected from her slight frame. Plus, she had minorly contradicted his father so, points for that.

“Alright well, that’s Patricia back now.” Stanley said, pointing a finger towards the door at the end of the hallway that led to the kitchen as his girlfriend and Richie’s mother walked through.

Unlike Sydney who was wearing a pair of slack denim trousers and a blouse with all sorts of geometric shapes on it, Patricia was wearing a flowery dress that covered her knees and elbows. She looked a right sight and Richie was glad he had Sydney to talk to on the walk. Hopefully that would stop him from saying something too outrageous that would ultimately piss Stan off.

“It was good seeing you again, Mr Tozier.” Stanley said, ever the gentleman, as he shook Wentworth’s hand. 

Richie grabbed his coat from the hook it had been duped on and guided everyone towards the door. Sydney, who was shepherded next to him, came up to his shoulders. She was tall for a girl with a boyish figure. Pulling on the coat she had been holding in her arms, she had no qualms in taking the lead.

“It was lovely to meet you, Mr and Mrs Tozier.” She called over her shoulder as she stepped out into the cold, Stan and Patricia following closely behind. Maggie and Went returned the sentiment as they smiled and waved goodbye. Before he could shut the door, he heard his mother call out after him.

“Richie, sweetheart, be safe. No getting yourselves into trouble.”

“Me? Get into trouble? Baloney!” He called back, loud and to his father’s mind surely obnoxious.

…………………

When the night air hit him he was sure the cold war in his head had gone nuclear and he was about to die. Jesus, like ice cold radiation, it took no time at all for his frets over the date to mutate into a fear of losing a limb to frostbite.

“Jeez Louise, who’s idea was it to trek through the fucking Baltic?” Richie thus blurted out through his chattering teeth. 

Sydney, who had been fiddling with a pair of gloves she’d pulled from her coat pocket, gave him another smile. If it wasn’t so dark, he was sure he’d be able to see a blue tinge to her thin lips.

Honestly, if Richie wasn’t so bloomin’ cold he would have made a comment on the fact that all she seemed to do was smile. Little Miss Sunshine needed to chill (bodum-ts). Seriously though, you’d think someone had sewn her mouth that way. 

“Nothing wrong with a little fresh air.” She finally said, addressing him for the first time with a line straight out of his mother’s book. Laughing sardonically, Richie forgot himself for a moment.

“There is when it feels like you’re a huncking slab of meat in a giant-ass freezer, being kept fresh till the big man up there is ready to chow down on you.” Perhaps he was being a little bit too forward, a bit of a dick. He should…cool it… He enjoyed his own jokes too much, sue him. 

They were strolling along behind Stan and his girlfriend, looking like a group of animals heading straight for the fucking Ark. Ready to copulate so that they didn’t drown. He watched the outline of the couple’s entwined hands swinging between the two figures and gritted his teeth. If they were ever going to get to that point, he had to not be an ass.

About to apologise, Richie got his first real shock for the night. Rather than being offended or put off by his comment she took his comment and raised him by ten. It was a gamble and it worked.

“Well, in that case, nothing wrong with a man chowing down on you.” 

Dear lord if Richie had a drink in his mouth you could be sure he’d have done a big ass spit-take at that. It was made all the more insane by the honking laugh she gave, clutching a hand over her mouth as she pointed at Richie’s comical look of shock. 

Stunned out of a comeback and worried he might find himself making a joke to the effect of an agreement, Richie trundled along silently. Had he just been shut up by a girl?

Calming herself from her little fits of giggles, they continued to walk along without saying anything. Stan and Patricia kept turning their heads to work out what was going on, but they were sure not to say something. Richie was grateful.

“So, you’re Richard then.” Syd said finally, trying to break the silence now that she was not giggling uncontrollably.

He was about to ask her what the fuck sort of question was that because of course he was, when he realised it hadn’t been a question so much as an observation. Like she had been sizing him up and she was asking him ‘is this it?’. In lieu of a proper answer, he gave her a stiff nod and hoped to god this night would end soon.

It felt like he was the joke. It felt like she was this alternate version of himself and she knew how to make him feel like a joke. She had probably been told all about the legendary Trashmouth Tozier and thought ‘ah, a challenger’. With a sense of humour like that, she was probably hoping she was now in the company of like.

Richie had to remind himself she had made one joke and that he shouldn’t go jumping to conclusions. Conclusions rescinded; Richie was all but astonished at what fell out of her mouth next. 

“I’ll let you call me Syd if I can call you Dick?” 

“Huh?” Richie gaped dumbstruck, stumbling over his feet like a fool.

“Syd. You can call me Syd but only if I can call you Dick.” She said laughing. “Or Dickie? Ooo actually I like Dickie more.” She was bouncing along the pavement, Richie now trailing behind.

Richie was so confused. He had expected to be the loud one, yet here he was acting like Ben Hanscom when they had first met all those years ago (nervous and uncertain). He shook his head. 

“Oh yeah sure and how about I call you Knee?” It occurred to him that Sydney might be taking the piss so he, naturally, felt the need to take the piss right back.

Not Like Richie who was still more wound up then a clock at noon, Sydney seemed to be very much at ease. The fact she had managed to leave him speechless in the space of a couple of minutes of talking, to him, was absolute codswallop and he was not having it.

“Now now Patella Fella, Syd will do just fine.” Richie was again, taken aback. 

She had turned around and was bobbing along backwards, this time her face a picture of mocking. At least, he thought it might be, the streetlights not illuminating it enough to clearly make out just what expression she had on.

“Alright lil lass, I’ll Sid on that for a while and let yous know if I can agree to those terms.” What possessed him to do a Southern accent and pump his arms like a kid’s TV presenter was beyond him. 

It was something he would do around his friends but never a stranger. Especially a strange stranger. A strange stranger he was on a date with.   
Before he could blurt out an apology for his awful pun and frankly criminal choice of accents she gave a snort and started clapping like a seal. Richie blinked.

“Ooo I love accents! Right I challenge you to an accent off!” Sydney declared raucously, the faint groan of Stan and the gentle chuckle of Patricia in front of them joining her laughter. 

Richie grinned. Maybe she wasn’t so bad.

……………

The rest of the date had been surprisingly successful. Not long after they had started, they exhausted Sydney’s repertoire of accents. They were only halfway through the walk, but she was more than happy to listen to Richie’s and then give them a go herself. They laughed a lot and Richie hardly remembered that he was freezing his toes off.

At the movies she kept whispering funny little commentaries in Richie’s ear that made him cackle vociferously. Of course, this got quite a few angry looks from Patricia and a stern warning from Stan. 

Whilst walking home they were discussing their preferred bands and Richie decided that Sydney might not be all that bad after all. Not only did she like good music, she had a lot of hilarious things to say about a certain five worded boy group.

By the time he had walked her home he found he was genuinely disappointed that the date was over. He asked her if she wanted to go out with him again and she told him she would on the condition that next time he didn’t dress like the grim reaper. He laughed and said that sounded like a fair deal. 

……….

Following the success of the first date, they went on two more. Richie found he was really coming to enjoy her company. She made him laugh and she was shameless.

It drove Patricia mad because she had no idea how bad influence Richie would be on her. Apparently, she would not stop doing annoying voices that verged on obscene. He laughed when Stan told him about that, proclaiming her his protégé. 

Everyone was shocked, Mike and Bev both ringing him to ask if the rumours were true. When he had confirmed that he was, in fact, dating a girl they demanded an audience with this woman. Bev wanting, no doubt, to take the piss out of him and Mike because he was probably being a genuinely supportive friend. 

After Ben and Bill had also called him to ask when he planned on telling them he said he would bring her round to Mike’s for the monthly game night. Ben told him he couldn’t wait but Bill had been really weird.

Instead of saying anything about looking forward to meeting Sydney, Bill asked if he had heard from Eddie. Stan said that the two had spoken since the snowball fight (he probably shouldn’t have lied to Stan about that). 

Richie confessed to Bill that he hadn’t and that he just didn’t want Stan to be worried. Bill didn’t seem to believe him, but he didn’t call him out. He did, however, promise to find out why Eddie had been missing in action for the last few weeks. Richie laughed and told him to knock himself out. Things were good right now and he didn't want to think about Eddie.

They were having a great time. Sure, he and Sydney hadn’t kissed or anything and neither of them instigated any unnecessary touching but it was good. At least it was until date number three. They were saying goodbye and he had just told her that he wanted her to meet the rest of his friends when she planted one right on his mouth.

Fuck.

What was going to be a quick peck turned became a much longer kiss when Richie let out a little groan. It wasn’t a sexually charged sound at all, but Sydney seemed to think it was. He didn’t have the heart to push her off and tell her he didn’t want to do that. Sucking it up, Richie wondered what the appropriate amount of time was before he could pull away.

The thing was it just felt too weird. Like, so weird. It was frustrating because he wanted to want to kiss her, but he just didn’t. It was like Bev; he could love her but that didn’t mean he wanted to stick his tongue in her mouth.

Nothing was wrong with the way Sydney kissed. Gentle but needy, it was alright. He kissed back a bit too, but it wasn’t as…fulfilling. He didn’t know how to describe it, but something was off. He was missing that knot in his stomach, that unadulterated yearning. 

Pulling off first, Richie made out like he wasn’t shocked senseless. 

“That was nice.” That was nice? That was nice! A girl he really enjoyed spending time with and who was really cool had just kissed him and he decides to say that her kissing him was ‘nice’? What the fuck dude!

“Yeah, it was.” Syd said softly, her tongue darting over her lips, probably thinking Richie was being a mess because of a stellar kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” He repeated impassively. “Right, tomorrow.”

Smiling again, she made her way inside her house and Richie was left, brain buffering, on the front porch. 

Fuck...


	7. Gambling is a Fool's Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night meant for unity and friendship turns to smoke when Richie realises how badly he needs Eddie in his life. He is just a lonely loser who needs his inhaler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wham-Bam, Reddie Fans! Okay, so I know it has been a while but with finals and a global pandemic, what's am I to do? 
> 
> This chapter is longer than Chapter II if you get what I mean *wink*wink*nudge*nudge* (please appreciate my reference). I hope you are all safe and healthy and that this brings you a little bit of joy in this trying and unprecedented time.
> 
> Comments, kudos and chapter suggestions are always welcome. Until then, ENJOY!

Traditions are like arseholes; everybody has one. For the Losers, the monthly Games Night was theirs.

Growing up they had so much time to play with, all they had done was play. Their entire childhood, they had wasted away the hours doing nothing in particular. Nothing was enough back then. Those nothing days were the sort of days they would later remember as exciting and adventurous days. Time would tint them rose and make the memories seem far more important than a day in a dirty old wasteland had any right to be.

As they had grown they had the displeasure of meeting a little thing their parents liked to call ‘responsibility’. She was a capricious mistress with a proclivity for making prisoners out of people. If Richie didn’t know any better (and how could he, he was ‘just a kid’) this responsibility nonsense was a hoax. It was no more than weaponised words and unnegotiable obligations. 

He had gone from a mere acquaintance of Responsibility to her compliant little bitch; ass presented and ready for her whip at any moment. When he was a kid the only business this dominatrix had with him and his arse had been when his mother taught him to wipe it by himself.

Of course, age and responsibility are the ‘Harley/Joker’ power-couple of an antiquated system. That is to say, they are the villainous lovers destined to pray on the victors of puberty. It was probably the oldest joke of a capitalist world: make it through raging hormones, painful growth spurts, mullet wearing assholes and school, only to become a cog in a system designed to make you a yearn for the simplicity of those early years. 

If Richie were to try and surmise the place of responsibility in his life it would probably be something to the effect of: ‘You’ve gotta be fucking kidding!”

All his friends had seemed to accept that work, responsibility and further education were just part of the natural order. They had all decided that studying, shelving books or waiting on tables meant they were on track to reach whatever goal the world had told them they wanted.

Mike and Ben were the obvious ones. Richie would not have expected anything less. 

For Mike, Derry was it. He would probably take over the family farm when his stubborn-ass grandfather decided to retire. Until then he was stuck shelving books at Derry Public Library with Ben. The two of them did not see all that much of each other because they worked in separate parts of the library. When Richie had asked them why they wanted to work in some crummy old library that smelt like dusty old farts and mouldy old books, they had told him that they had ‘responsibilities now’. 

The same could be said for Stan and Bill who had both wound up working for the same crazy old man over at the Secondhand Rose. It was supposed to be a temporary summer job but (when Richie had questioned him about it) Bill said that he had ‘responsibilities now’ and that he and Stan were both saving up for college.

Richie had tried to tease Stan about being an old man but Bill had told him to lay off. Just because Richie was work-shy did not mean the rest of them were. Needless to say, they hadn’t spoken for three days after that. They only made up after Richie gently reminded Bill that he had worked his arse off saving up for his record player that one time. 

Even Bev had a job for Christ sake. She worked over at the Jade of the Orient as one of those pot washer kids. Richie used to take the piss out of her till she told him to grow up. With her aunt willing to stay in Derry so long as Bev helped with the cost of rent, she had ‘responsibilities now’. 

It turned out they were all pretty sensitive about their jobs. 

At least if Richie had a job he would know that it was fine to laugh about it. The woman scrubs noodles and chicken-fried-who-gives-a-fuck for money so she can save or whatever. She slaves away for long hours, picks up extra shifts and even works night but they never let her have any extra time off. Surely, there was someone who could scrape chicken balls into a bin and bleach some plates for crying out loud. Yet, every week she spent day after day working for a couple of bucks. 

Even hookers got more money than she did!

Eddie was the worst for it. He had some idiotic apprenticeship over at the Centre Street Drug which basically meant he was working for free. Even though he had been the one Richie had managed to drag out the most, he too seemed to be overly invested in his dumbass job. It certainly kept that psychotic witch happy, both terrified and delighted for her little Eddiebear. 

According to Eddie, Sonia was either scared that he would pick up the syph or something off of some grungy, no-good hobo or relived he could pick up the medicine for his ailments (real or imagined) right there on shift. Either way she was probably glad her son wasn’t around the losers so much. Richie couldn’t remember exactly why she hated them but he knew that she did.

For a while no one really noticed how much time they were all spending at their respective workplaces. In fact, it was not until they had gone two months without hanging out as a collective group that Richie called bullshit. He had told them that if they kept on working and working and acting like little bitches because of some stupid ‘responsibilities’ that was one thing. However, if they really wanted to throw away their friendship because they didn’t know how to prioritise the things that mattered then they should all go fuck themselves with a copy of Das Kapital like the mindless drones they were becoming.

Richie getting angry and resorting to some Marxist-esque critique of his friends - something he only knew of because Ben had forced him to watch a documentary on some Father Christmas looking motherfucker - had caused them all to burst out laughing. It certainly was not the desired effect but it did lead to some very important promises being made. 

So long as Richie never tried to be the smart one in the group again, they would all agree to a monthly night, free from responsibility and work crap. It was a night that they could all hang out together. Held on the last Friday of every month, it was easy enough for everyone to book time off of work if necessary. It saved them all having to figure out when everyone was free. 

No one really cared where Games Night was held. Usually, for the sake of convenience, the host was Mike or Big Bill. In Summer they liked to meet up in the clubhouse or down by the quarry and play more active games like Code or Track’n’Tag. 

It was technically a misnomer because ‘night’ was only really applicable for the first few times they had met up. Games ‘day’ was probably accurate and even that was known to be wrong from time to time because they liked to sleep round on occasion. They would watch scary movies or tell horror stories that nearly always centred around psychotic clowns, for some unknown reason. 

The thing about Game Nights was that it was a sacred event for the Losers’ Club. That didn’t necessarily mean no one was allowed to join in but it did mean that invitations were given out sparingly. The rule was that if any guest misbehaved or started shit then they were not allowed back. 

Ever. 

Unfortunately for Patricia, who had been a terrible sport during their Dungeons and Dragon campaign, this meant she could no longer roll her eyes excessively every time Richie sniffed in her talc-covered direction. She was banned for life. 

Richie had been explaining this to Sydney on the walk over. She couldn’t understand why ‘Pattycakes’ was not allowed to come if the three of them (including Stanley) were going to be there. After taking the appropriate amount of time to laugh his ass off over the nickname, Richie tried to tell her about the time Patricia had killed Bill with her longsword. That in turn set Sydney off; she literally had to squat on the pathway because she laughed so hard ‘a little bit of pee came out’.

“I was obviously talking about D and D, you nutter.” Richie had laughed. He offered his hand to Syd who took it happily. When she was up and on her feet they carried on walking like that, gloved hand in bare hand. 

Eventually Richie managed to get the whole story out having to stop to explain things like ‘what a hobgoblin was’ and ‘why they agreed to a quest from some random dude they barely knew’, as well as to allow for Sydney to take the absolute piss out of their character names. 

When he told her, he thought the bride only did it because she was jealous Stan had chosen to heal Bill first - the logical choice for the mage, given he was next to the archer - Sydney had rolled her eyes and tutted.

“Honestly, it would not surprise me. Patty can get so jealous over the silliest things. If Stan turned into a zombie and bit someone but her first, you can bet she would kick up a fuss.”

“Okay first of all, knowing that psycho she would probably invent a cure just so she could nag at him for it and know he had no choice but to consciously listen cause he couldn’t blame it on the zombie brains!” Admittedly, Richie had gotten a little bit over excited at the mention of zombies. 

“Like she would be able to create a cure.” Sydney had said cutting him off before he could get on to the second thing. 

They then spent the remainder of their walk, up the long dirt track to Mike’s house, discussing the level of fucked they would be in a zombie apocalypse. Sydney seemed to think (‘retardedly’ according to Richie) that there was a cure for what she called zombism. Richie on the other hand went into gruesome detail about the body decomposition process and how the organs would just rot away. If anything a cure would ensure a painful death.

Obviously, it had been a great start to the ‘night’ (it only being three o’clock). When they arrived and Richie suddenly clocked that he was going to have to actually introduce Sydney to his friends, he lost some of his enthusiasm. He thought Sydney was great and he had seen her play house with Stan and Patricia so he knew she was capable of putting on an act but she was so much like him that he was worried she might get beeped or something straight off the bat. 

When they knocked on the front door, Richie had been secretly praying Stan would be the one to greet them. That way, if he just kept his mouth shut, Stan would have to introduce Syd to the Losers and he wouldn’t have to worry about how he should introduce her or what he should call her. Unfortunately, it turned out Stan was pre-occupied with his own crisis.

From what Richie could make out, he and Bill were bickering about something important. He knew it was important because if it wasn’t, they would have both been straight over to say hello to him and Syd. The two of them were standing over in the corner, Stan with his back to the rest of the room and Bill covering his mouth so that none of them might ‘accidently’ read his lips. Knowing better than to interrupt them, Richie focused his attention on Mike and Bev who were the only other two there.

His final resort would have been Ben but as he was not there, Richie figured he really would have to do the old ‘hey here’s a person, say hello’ routine. Of course, when he and Syd had both de-coated and sat down on the vacant sofa - a small wood-frame loveseat with faded green cushions - Bev and Mike were already eyeing them with Cheshire Cat grins. 

Give him strength. 

It took Bev naught point two seconds to start, Richie bracing himself for a new level of embarrassment. At least he didn’t have to do the introducing he supposed…

“You must be Sydney.” Beverly said, suspiciously sweetly, a bottle of beer she seemed to have been nursing for a while tipped towards Syd. “It’s nice to be able to put a face to the name.”

Richie rolled his eyes. It had been like a week, tops. He wanted to tell Syd to ignore her or explain that Bev was just exaggerating and she didn’t have to be creeped out. He hadn’t spent every hour they were apart on the phone to Bev talking about how her eyes were as blue as a snail shell or anything dumb like that. It being Sydney, he did not need to. She had everything under control, as always.

“Likewise, Beverly right?” Beverly nodded and they gave each other smiles that seemed nice enough. Cool, Richie could check worry number four off his list: ‘what if Syd and the Losers are mortal enemies’. 

“I’m Mike, by the way. It’s great to meet you in the flesh!” Mike interjected, offering one of his dazzling smiles. 

“What do you mean in the flesh? That sounds like something a zombie would say, kiddo.” Richie harped out giving Sydney a wink. She in turn gave a loud cackle, shoving her hand over her mouth and trying to hold it in.

Richie liked it when she did this. The apples of her checks looked soft and inviting and he wanted to squeeze them and make kissy faces at her because she looked cute. Smiling fondly, he noticed Bev observing his movements. The corners of her mouth were upturned and her expression curious.

“I think what Mike means is, we weren’t sure you were real.” Bev said to Syd who let out another cackle, barely trying to cover up this time. Beverly laughed with her, both of them losing it when Richie started pouting like a child. 

“Hey!” He said looking over at Mike on the opposite sofa, separated by a large, rectangular coffee table with various knick-knacks on it. “I’ll have you know the only person I made-up was that girl from ‘Summer Camp’ and that only to make sure Eddie didn’t find out I was banging his mum!”

Mike laughed and Beverly laughed harder, all three of them missing how Sydney was looking a little bit lost. He was so used to making jokes about him and Eddie’s mum that he didn’t even clock how absurd it would sound to an outsider. 

Eddie did not even need to be there for him to take a shot at that one – it was classic material. It was also the first time he had mentioned Eddie out loud in a few days and as soon as the words had left his lips he felt himself tense like he used to do when he was younger and accidentally swore in front of his parents. 

“You know, I’m going to need soo much context there.” Syd said over the laughter, eyes wide and a grin on her face. If Richie had learnt anything about her, it was that she was a sucker for a dirty joke or two.

“I’ll explain it to you when you’re older.” Richie quipped back, winking at her for what must have been the hundredth time that day.

“Trust me, you don’t wanna know. Richie has a thing for torturing Eddie.” Bev was explaining, pausing to take a swig of her beer. “The two of them are ridiculous together.” 

Mike who had been shuffling through a deck of cards that had been sat on the table between them, apparently about to suggest a game, gave a snort. 

“Hey, he bullies me just as much!” Richie whined, disassociating his feelings about Eddie in favour of defending himself. 

Bev and Mike laughed a lot at that and they spent the next ten minutes arguing about whether Eddie did or did not deserve Richie’s ‘teasing’. Syd sat and listened happily, waiting for a lull in the conversation to ask:

“So, I’m assuming Eddie is a friend of yours?” Wrinkling his nose at the question, Richie knew this would set Bev’s suspicions off. He had told Syd about all the others but had purposefully neglected to mention Eddie. It was just easier than trying to explain things because explaining would mean lying and the less lying he had to do the better.

“I’m sure Richie must have mentioned him?” Bev asked as the seeds of confusion sprouted from the lines between her brows. Well, shit. 

“No, I don’t think so? I might be wrong; he rambles a lot sometimes so I just zone out.” This set the other two off again as they sensationalised a couple of stories about times they had to tell Richie to shut up because he just kept on talking.

“You’re not the best at reading the room, to be fair Rich.” Mike had giggled as Richie tried to protest. The slander of it, honestly.

“Look, can you stop trying to scare off my girlfriend with your LIES?” By shouting out the word ‘lies’ and putting on a voice he had used up all his ‘think-power’. He realised his mistake the moment he heard the others stop laughing and had to do a mental rewind of the past two seconds. 

“Oh, girlfriend now is it?” Dear lord. The smirk on Sydney’s face was the epitome of a cat who had gotten the proverbial cream. 

Floundering, with his mouth flapping like a trout fresh off the hook, Richie could not think of a way to save himself. Bev had already started cooing at him and Mike was clapping him on the back like he had achieved something. He was mid-prayer to the big man upstairs when another knock on the door came. 

Rushing to answer it, Richie caught sight of Stan and Bill staring at him. Neither one of them were speaking which made Richie uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure how long they had been listening to the conversation but he was pretty sure they had heard him just refer to Sydney as his girlfriend. 

Flinging open the door, he laid eyes on the beautiful (if musically impaired) Ben Hanscom. 

“Benscom, my son!” Richie bellowed out in his old papa voice. Eying his lord and saviour, Ben, lovingly he carried on. “How long, it’s been.”

“Good to see you too, Richie.” Ben said at the same time that Beverly called to ask who it was. 

“It’s your boyfriend!” Richie yelled back in a matter of fact tone. He looked round to gage Bev’s reaction hoping she might be half the shade of vermillion that Ben was currently turning. Alas, she just laughed, a comeback already on her tongue.

“I didn’t know he was coming. Let him in will you, Richie Rich” Letting Ben follow after him, Richie made fake gaging sounds as he pretended to throw up. As the other two finally joined the rest of the group and introductions were made, the comment Bev had made proceeded to incite an hour-long quarrel amongst them all, Syd included. 

On one side of the room, Richie was complaining about the Harvey reference and Syd was teasing him about it with Mike laughing at them both. On the other side, Ben was kicking up a fuss about something or other that likely had to do with Bev insinuating she had a boyfriend that was decidedly not him. 

Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves so much so that they barley caught the next knock at the door. Bill went to open it whilst the rest of them continued talking over one another. Richie and Syd had just began a conversation with Stan and Mike about their favourite comic book characters when Richie heard Bill over by the door. 

“Hi, I d-didn’t think you-u’d make it.” There was some mumbling from the other side of the door and then a laugh. 

“Hey, Bill! Who’s at the door?” Mike broke off their conversation to call out, apparently disinterested in Stan’s generic ‘Wonder-Woman’ answer. 

“Who do you think?” Bill responded as he stood aside to let the last member in.

Standing small, Eddie stepped over the threshold looking like a spectre Richie was loath to see. Taking him in, Richie’s reflexive reaction was to stand. He looked slimmer than the last time they had seen each other, his cheeks hollowed out and sunken. Etching out the bottom half of his eye sockets, soft blueish lines stained his otherwise pale skin making him look weak and exhausted.

Eddie was wearing a pair of corduroys and the yellow ‘Christine’ shirt he had traded Richie his ‘Freese’s’ one for. He also had on his heavy-duty fanny pack, almost completely covered by the coat he had in his arms. Bill was offering to take the coat and hang it up for him, Eddie looking thankful in return. Noticing Richie stand, just about every pair of eyes in the room moved to look at him. As soon as Bill had made to hang up the coat in the other room, Eddie finally managed to look over at the rest of them.

Syd and the others were all clambering to their feet, Richie and Eddie not breaking their intense eye-contact as the others began to swarm around him. Bees to honey, midges to water.

“Eddie!” Bev was squealing as she pulled him in to a firm hug, Stan and Ben trying to find bits of him to pat as they waited their turn to embrace him.

“Where have you been?” Mike was asking as he stood a little further back, allowing the other three of them to properly greet their friend first. Apparently Mike was the only one who cared about not suffocating the guy.

“You should have called us.” Stan was grumbling, still not neglecting to give Eddie a quick squeeze of a hug, curt-like but affectionate.

“We were worried about you.” Ben was trying to explain to Eddie who had broken eye-contact with Richie to look at all the warm faces around him. The poor guy could not get a word in edge’s way.

As Bill came back and everyone began pestering Eddie with more questions, Richie felt a light tap on his shoulder. He had completely forgotten about Sydney for a moment, his emotions eclipsed by the sudden appearance of Eddie. 

Logically, it was not unexpected that he would turn up to a Games Night. If there was ever a time when he would see Eddie again he knew it would be at a Games Night. Since meeting Sydney, he had been so wonderfully distracted, he hadn’t even considered that he would have to see him again at some point.

Processing why Eddie was here when he had been missing for the past month, Richie felt furious at his betrayer’s presence. That was until, Syd reminded him that she was there and that he could not act like anything was wrong because that would mean airing their dirty laundry in front of everyone. Oh mighty smiter, smite him if the rest of their friends ever found out how dogshit he had been because of this thoughtless, asthmatic, coward of a man!

Eventually, having managed a few answers to the horde of questions, Eddie seemed to notice that there was a newcomer. In typical Eddie fashion he decided that, despite all his friends rushing over to talk to him and being nothing but supportive, he would ignore them to address a random stranger.

“So, um, who’s this?” There was a pause as everyone looked back to where Syd was standing by Richie, still smiling. Not quick enough to beat Syd’s quick tongue, Richie choked on freshly inhaled air as she spoke.

“Hi, I’m Sydney. Richie’s girlfriend apparently.” Normally Richie liked her teasing and prodding fun at dumb things he had said but this time… God, he wanted to die in that moment, even as she gave a stage-wink and set Bev and the others off laughing. 

Mortified, Richie lifted his eyes to look over at Eddie. He looked dumbfound and Richie was sure that, to the others, Eddie just appeared shocked that a menace like him could find a pretty, seemingly nice girl to date. Fuck, Richie was starting to schizts out. Eddie was staring into his damn soul and he had the weirdest sense of guilt and anger brewing in him. Recipe? Disaster.

Before he could reach full on panic mode or muster anything to say to Eddie that wasn’t ‘I can explain’ or ‘where the fuck have you been?’, the man in front of him seemed to gather his thoughts and senses together. 

Raising an eyebrow at Sydney, he shot Richie a face that so clearly meant that he fucking owed Eddie for this one. Before his eyes, Eddie’s guarded and sceptic expression was plastered over by a fake smile that made Richie’s stomach knot. It had been so long since he had seen him smile.

“What did you do in a past life to deserve such a punishment?” Everyone began snickering at Richie’s expense. All adding their own theories as Sydney beamed at Eddie. Usually Richie would bask in the attention, using it to his advantage. Now though, as Syd and Eddie and the others launched into further conversation, Richie wanted to throw up.

The so-called Games Night ended up being more of a chat show ordeal. Eddie and Sydney were, no surprise, in the hot seat while the rest of the Losers’ Club acted as de facto hosts.

Richie who was just hoping no one picked up on his awkward and stilted behaviour, liked to hurl out jokes every now to keep up appearances. Eddie still looked more fragile than they were used to seeing him and when they asked him where he had been, he gave some half-assed explanation. Essentially, the story was that he had a throat infection of sorts and Sonia had him on bed rest. 

This was met with condolences and coos from the girls who instantly went to comfort him. Apparently even Sydney had figured that a kid who chose to wear a fanny pack probably had some parental issues and deserved her sympathy. 

For the first time since he and Sydney had hung out, Richie regarded her as something other than his female counterpart. She was too kind and too generous with her emotions to be like him. If anything, she was the better version. He got uncomfortable around vulnerability and hid behind jokes and the voices. He would use comedy as a shield whilst Syd used it as a tool to help people feel comfortable. Richie was almost impressed that she was able to get Eddie laughing despite his whole self-pitying demeanour.

Normally it was Richie who made him laugh. 

For someone who barely knew Eddie, she sure knew what she was doing. Richie was half-way through wondering if the others noticed this too when he felt an altogether different emotion.

Syd had put her arm around Eddie and was telling him about the time she had her wisdom teeth out and the struggle of being looked after by her crazy religious mother who refused to believe medicine was more powerful than God. The others were all chuckling at her dramatic retelling and offering back quips and comments of their own. 

Swallowing, Richie looked away quickly and tapped Bev on the shoulder to get her attention.

“Alright missy, I’m going out for a smoke. You wanna come?” 

He knew that technically she had quit but he was feeling a certain kind of way. Richie wasn’t sure if he was mad or upset or what and he didn’t like feeling something other than nervous or content. The last time he had experienced these sorts of emotions he had lost his head.

“I’m alright, thanks.” Bev replied, her voice soft and easy. At least she wouldn’t give him a hard time for smoking like the others would. You would think they had never smoked before, the way they would sometimes react.

“Guess I gotta go outside allllllll by myself.” Richie sobbed, pushing his glasses him his nose with fake sniffles. He was not guilt-tripping Bev but if she just so happened to decide to join him, he would not complain. It’s not like he wanted to be alone with his own thoughts.

“I guess you will, Rich.” Bev hummed back at him.

“Alright, fine. If I get attacked or killed though, that’s on you Bevster.” Richie said in a tone that sounded almost like his mother when she used to ask him to go to the toilet before a long car journey and he refused. She would sigh and tell him that if he peed himself that was his own fault for being so gosh-darn stubborn.

“I can live with that.” Bev smirked and Richie sighed.

“You know what, Syd you’ll come with me, right?” Richie called out. She looked over to him and asked what he was on about. 

“Don’t do it Syd, it’s a trap. He says he wants you to go with him for a smoke but the next thing you know he’ll be asking you to listen to his new joke and we won’t see you for hours!” Beverly cried out dramatically. Syd laughed.

“What’s in it for me if I do?” Richie blinked.

“My appreciation?” Making a ‘buzzer’ sound, Syd shook her head stubbornly.

“Pass.” The others laughed again.

“How about my promise that if I ever find a cure for zombism, I will give it to you?” They started a back and forth after that which started out as bargaining then morphed into another debate on zombies that got everyone involved. 

After some shouting and a few choice words, Eddie seemed to have had enough.

“Oh my god, guys, I will go with him!” He got to his feet, the others looking at him like they had forgotten the point was that Richie wanted to go for a smoke. “Come on then.”

“Huh?” Richie said a bit taken aback as Eddie passed by him and headed towards the door.

“Come on. Let’s go.” Eddie said sternly, sounding much harsher than he had talking to the others. 

It was the first verbal exchange they had directly shared and Richie was confused. Wasn’t he the one that was supposed to be mad at Eddie?

Clearly uninterested by Eddie and Richie’s excursion, the others carried on talking about apocalypse weapon choices. When Richie reached the front door, held open for him by Eddie, he felt the cold air hit him. He had forgotten the weather in his attempt to free himself from that room. Part of him wanted to go grab his coat but the look on Eddie’s face made him resist.

The quicker he could smoke and get back inside the better. 

Lighting a cigarette, he had taken from the pack in his pocket, Richie felt the heated prick of nicotine against the back of his throat and sighed. For a moment neither of them said anything, an awkward tension falling between them as words waited to be said.

Wandering further from the house, and into the darkened field, Richie eventually gave up waiting for Eddie to start his apology. When he spoke it came out far more hostile than he had thought it would.

“So Eds, are you going to tell me why the fuck you’ve been ignoring me or are we just gunna stand here in silence?” 

“I was ignoring you? That’s funny, if I remember correctly I was the one in quarantine with tonsil-fucking-litis. What’s your excuse?” Eddie spat back, anger reaching everywhere but his eyes. 

“My excuse? Are you kidding me?” Richie took a step closer as he shoved his glasses back up his nose and rolled his shoulders, flicking the butt of his cig with his thumb “I called you practically every day, you dick!”

“You rang me.” Eddie stated flatly. “I had swollen tonsils and a crazy mother who had me on bed rest but you expected me to somehow answer the phone for you?”

“Yeah well-” He faltered, tongue almost sticking out of his lax mouth. “Well, I might not have considered that…”

“Oh shocker.” Eddie shot back sassily raising his arms and shaking his hands sarcastically. “Tozier doesn’t think before opening his big fucking mouth.”

“Oh get fucked.” Richie said flicking the half-smoked tab away and rounding on Eddie “You loved that mouth a month ago.”

“Okay first off, gross.” The smaller man practically snarled. “Second off, it was probably the bacteria in your mouth that got me ill to begin with.”

“Oh yeah? Well explain why I didn’t get tinsilitis then doctor k, huh?” Richie was saying, closer to Eddie than he needed to be.

“TON-silitis. Jesus Christ, you’re such a dumbass, did you really just call it tinsilitis.” Eddie was doing that thing again. That infuriating, patronising thing he does, when he talks to Richie like he’s a child.

“Fuck you, I meant what I said.” Richie said defensively, “It’s the Christmas edition, what can I say?”

“You’re such an asshole.” Eddie said, punctuating the name with a jab of Richie’s chest. They hadn’t seen each other in a month and were very much on bad terms and yet Richie’s heart palpitated traitorously at the touch.

“Says the guy who just stopped existing for a month.” It was the best response he could come up with whilst his brain figured out how to function with Eddie so close. “Do you realise how worried everyone was about you?”

“Everyone?” Eddie challenged. 

God, Richie thought. It was like Eddie could see into his mind and knew that Richie meant him. That Richie had been diabolically worried about Eddie. That Richie had been shaken to his god-damn fucking bones because he was so god-damn worried Eddie hated him for what had happened. Like he was going to admit that though.

“Yeah everyone, numbnuts!” Eddie huffed out a short, demeaning laugh.

“Oh, see that’s my bad then because I didn’t realise that when people are worried about me they go and get a girlfriend. It must be like getting a therapy dog, right?” Richie reeled at that.

“Did you just call Sydney a dog?” He demanded, clenching his fists at his sides, nails digging into palms.

“If the tag fits.” Eddie said, cocking his head and crossing his arms, hands gripping at gooseflesh.

“Are you jealous or something? Is that why you’re being a bitch right now?” 

“Fuck no. I just think I have a right to be a little confused.” Richie gritted his teeth at that. Any right that Eddie might have had was forfeited weeks ago.

“You know you disappeared for a month right? You get how long that is right? A literal month, Eddie!” And okay, so he was yelling now. Loud enough to get across to Eddie that he was not in the right here just because he had been ill but not loud enough to have one of the peacekeepers like Ben or Bill come out and get involved.

“You think I don’t know how long I was trapped at home for?” Eddie was shouting back, his voice cracking a little as he did.

“I don’t know Eds, it sure seems like you don’t while your sitting up there on your fucking high horse.” God, Richie was mad. 

He was so mad he didn’t care that Eddie might really have been ill because he had left him. He had left him. He needed him to tell him it was okay and he wasn’t there. He felt the frustration rearing inside and he wanted to cry or scream or do something to expel some of the pressure.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just think it’s funny you’re suddenly swapping spit with some girl when you were going to risk hypothermia so you and I could be together.” Richie let out a growl.

“Be together? Do you even hear yourself right now?” He wanted to shake Eddie; wanted to make him realise what he was saying because it wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

“Sorry, I meant so I could suck your dick and you could get off on it like the slut you are.” Eddie poked him hard in the rib his words filthy and cruel.

“Why are you calling me the slut when you’re the one getting on your knees for me?” Richie shot back, poking Eddie in the sternum just as hard.

“Because you’re the one with a girlfriend now!” He sounded exasperated. Richie shook his head.

“This isn’t about Syd.” 

“Well it fucking should be, Richie.” Eddie blared. “You’re fucking gay!” 

“What did you just say to me?” 

“Richie.”

“No go on, what did you say?” Richie spat, livid that someone had finally said it out loud. Not like when the other kids used to call him a faggot or whatever. This was Eddie. His best friend, who he had done such perverted things with, who had just broken the unspoken pact between them. 

He gripped Eddie’s shirt, hands shaking slightly as if he were going to punch that stupid face of his.

“Richie, come on.” And now Eddie was looking at him with those big brown eyes, the bags making him look haunted. His voice was practically begging Richie to see to reason.

“What did you call me, Eds? What did you fucking call me?” The words started angry but the further into the question he got the more depleted it sounded.

“Oh, come on Richie. After everything we’ve done you still want to pretend there’s not something wrong with us?” They were so close and Richie could smell the soap on his skin and could see the freckles on his nose and he remembered everything so clearly he knew he couldn’t deny it.

Eddie was right. There was something wrong with him. He was so wrong he could not begin to list the ways in which he was utterly fucked up. Then he realised what Eddie had said.

“Us?” It was mutuality and it was solidarity. It was the closest they had come to the truth in so long.

“Us. Richie, god damn it!” Eddie slapped away the hands stretching his shirt, the cold long since forgotten. “You said you wanted to do whatever it is we want. Is this it? Do you want this?”

“Maybe I do!” He said stubbornly.

“If you want to kid yourself that you want to be with some girl you barely know then fine. You’re an asshole.” He was right, of course he was right. Richie knew he was. He couldn’t be anything but a screw up and he knew that.

“Yeah well, fuck you.” Richie was trying to breathe now. He was screaming for help because his mind was suffocating. They had promised this wouldn’t change things, promised that it wouldn’t be a big deal but here they were practically screaming at each other at a Games Night. 

He had spent so long obsessing over the fact that Eddie might hate him. That he might lose him. That he couldn’t be okay without him. Yet here he was fighting with him and pushing him away because he didn’t like the fact Eddie was doing the thing he always did. He was telling Richie how blind he was being. How fucking stupid and retarded and dumb he was being. 

This wasn’t a joke gone too far or a case of him annoying Eddie silly; this was deeper than that and if he wasn’t careful he would do something they would both regret for the rest of their lives. 

“Fuck you!” Eddie raged on, close to temper tears. There was something wild in his eyes and he looked so desperate Richie almost wanted to comfort him. 

“I said it first, fuck-“ 

Suddenly Eddie was on him before he could spit out the second word. He was clawing Richie into him and drawing his neck down to his level. Leaving a sliver of space between them, Eddie let Richie decide, in that moment, what he wanted.

Richie wasn’t sure it was really a choice.

Kissing Eddie was passion so indulgent it might as well be poison. The clench of his entire body as their lips met felt like he was ceasing up. It was fuelled by a bitter sense of betrayal made all the more intense for how long it had been since they had been this close.

Eddie could have been stabbing him with a knife, pressing deeper and deeper into his heart and Richie still would have kissed him in that moment. He pressed himself against Eddie’s smaller frame feeling the cold skin warm under his touch. 

Richie had been suffocating for weeks, had been gasping for oxygen but unable to take it in. Now, as his breathing got more erratic by the second, he finally felt like he could breathe. Eddie’s tongue against his, Eddie’s smell, Eddie’s taste; it was air underwater. 

It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t okay but it was everything Richie fucking needed.

He wanted everything. He wanted this, he wanted to hear his laugh again, he wanted to listen to Eddie tell him all the ways a leaf could kill him and he wanted them to be them again. He was so lost in the very thought of them and Eddie, Eddie, Eddie that it took him a long time to come back to himself and a longer time to remember where they were.

Stumbling away from Eddie like a dazed somnambulist, Richie gulped so hard he was sure the bone in the roof of his mouth was about to break from the force of his tongue. His lips were tingling like he had painted them with popping candy and he could feel his pulse thrumming in the tips of his fingers, his ears and his neck. 

There was an ungainly silence that was made all the more humiliating by an inculpatory wipe of his mouth, quick and sharp. They were both panting with a force Richie had only seen from his neighbours’ dog after it had run after a squirrel on a torrid autumn morning. 

“We have to go inside now.” Eddie whispered, eyes fixed on Richie’s chest as it rose and fell. “We’ve been out here for too long.”

“I know.” Richie said giving Eddie a pained look.

“I say we call a truce. We need to talk about some things but lets just get through tonight, first.” The words were steady and calm but Eddie was shaken and despite being mad at him, Richie wanted nothing more than to comfort his friend. He could not though. He was worried he may have lost that right, may be losing it, permanently.

“Okay.” He said defeatedly.

“Okay?” Eddie asked softly. Richie looked at him and for a moment and he thought he saw the same fear and confusion mirrored back.

God, what were they doing? This was ridiculous. They were both ridiculous. This was Eddie. He looked at him and gave him the most reassuring smile he was physically capable of, raising his hand to touch the shorter man’s cheek gently. 

“Yeah, Eds. Okay.” 

Having made their way inside, the others asked what had taken so long and they just waved them off by saying they were catching up. No one seemed to question it. The only person to give them a weird once over was Stan. Richie spent the rest of Games Night avoiding eye-contact with Eddie. He barely spoke to Sydney, even when they played Monopoly and sat next to each other. 

Later that night, when he was walking home with Syd and Stan, he remained uncharacteristically quite. They did not press him about it, Syd seeming to compensate for him. She was explaining why Milkybar was better than Milkyway and Stan was humming agreements politely. 

He spent the whole time attempting to get his brain to focus on anything other than Eddie and what he had said. When they had all made to leave, he hadn’t even manage to say goodbye to him. He was a coward who couldn’t face the discordant monologue of feelings bottled up inside.

Reaching Sydney’s, they said their goodbyes quickly. She gave him a peck on his lips and Richie felt part of his soul rot away. Richie sighed as he watched her trail inside. 

“You know kissing your girlfriend isn’t supposed to be painful, you get that right?” Stan said to Richie. He didn’t have the energy to deflect anymore. He was exhausted. He just looked at Stan blankly.

Stan was right. 

Kissing someone was not supposed to drain him. Kissing was supposed to be a promise. It was supposed to be a moment of truth where you knew, in that moment, that person need offer you nothing but that one little kiss and you would be there’s. It was supposed to feel exciting like a night in the Clubhouse or fun like a day at the Quarry. It was supposed to be comfort after a cup of hot chocolate or the passion of a fight born out of miscommunication and fear. 

Richie wanted to kiss his every inch of his favourite person to try to begin expressing how much he enjoyed every part of them. To show that person that, through the name calling and the lies, through the jokes and the secrets, he wanted them to be his. 

He couldn’t offer anything more than a broken man can and yet, if he asked for it, Eddie could have his heart. 

Richie supposed it had been his for a long time now.

Eddie with his witty comments. Eddie who would fight him over what colour the fucking sky was. Eddie who called him asshole so much, he had begun to think it was his second name. 

It was always going to be Eddie.

“Hey Stan.” Richie breathed out, his friend eyeing him as he sorted through the facts in his head. He didn’t realise he had started crying. “Are you okay to walk the rest of the way back without me?”

Stan looked at him for a moment, calculating something in his mind.

“Are you going after him?” He asked carefully, his face not giving anything away.

“You know?” Richie asks impassively, not bothering to deny what the curly-headed man was implying.

“I don’t know anything.” He replied honestly. “But I’ll be hear if you need to talk.”

“Thanks, Stanley.” Richie gave his friend a quick squeeze of his shoulder to try and express how grateful he was. Then he was off running. 

He was charging back up the way they had come, trying to reach Eddie before he got home. 

Panting heavily, his lungs expelling the burning lava that was the cold winter air, he ran. He could feel the impact of his foot hitting the ground ricochet through his muscles, tearing through to his bones. Pain erupted through him in every conceivable way, crippling and agonising. Still though, Richie ran and ran and ran because nothing would ever be more painful than the thought of losing Eddie. 

He couldn’t bare the thought of spending another day not knowing if they were going to be okay. He couldn’t breathe not knowing that. He couldn’t lose his best friend; his inhaler.


	8. Fallen Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tree falls. No one is around. Has it really fallen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to start by apologising for the delay on this chapter. With everything going on and my own personal shortcomings, it has been far longer than I had anticipated. That being said I hope you like it. If anyone has any questions or constructive criticism I am very open to hearing it. Until then, stay safe and enjoy.

The art of running can be conceived as the process of detaching one’s conscious mind from that of physical strife. In this respect, Richie’s rambling and entirely occupied thoughts should have been very much estranged from the trials of a steady three-mile run. Yet, the ghostly imagined figure of Eddie’s back receding into the fog of his otherwise empty mind was not enough to deceive his lean body from revolt. 

Treacherous aches seeped into the sinews of his calves as the tight contraction of his quads became ever weaker. With each stride Richie’s body seemed to become more and more indignant at such an unreasonable request. As he felt himself getting slower and slower, Richie seemed to have resigned himself to such a mutiny as his pace and posture became more morose. 

Ben had once taught Richie about the old Kitchner Ironworks and how, before the factory had exploded in 1908, the owners used to send angry telegrams to the workers letting them know that they needed to work harder. If Derry were to become more than a simple beaver-trapping town they would have to smelt far more than their current quota (all of this of course, being documented in an old letter Ben had somehow sourced from bygone archives). 

In response to the owner’s demands the workers began to join various unions (Ben assumed this would be the AFL or something) so that they may demonstrate against such fanciful bottom lines. If Richie’s memory served him right, it was at this point of the impromptu history lesson that he and Eddie had etched a picture of an ass with a General’s moustache and a French Maid’s bonnet in Ben’s ‘Borrowed!’ textbook. 

After a withering commentary on their maturity, Ben had gone on to explain that all of this disagreement that spanned over many years and several costly court-cases was for naught. Before the issue could meet any sort of amicable resolution the factory exploded along with any possibility of supply.

Richie was now convinced that Ben had really been trying to make a metaphor about running. No matter how he tried to convince his body to work twice as hard as usual, the collective conscience of his feet, muscles and lungs seemed to be united against his demands. Coming to a desperate canter Richie understood that the disagreement between his physical and mental selves were not dissimilar to the erosion of factory efficiency through complicated and politicised infighting.

Trying to negotiate with his own body, Richie attempted to appease it by thinking of how good it would feel to stroll at any leisurely pace he so pleased with Eddie, if only now he went faster. It seemed to incentivise his legs if not his lungs and he supposed the gallop was something to be thankful for even if his heart still griped with the notion of not getting to Eddie before Eddie got home.

Richie was halfway through the distance when he considered that the Flash (one of his least favourite comics) that so offended the circumscription of fantastical imagination was not as pathetically boring as he once thought. Before, the idea of being able to run really fast had seemed pretty shit when turning into a big green fighting machine or being all red and witchy and stuff was an option. That being said he was starting to see the appeal of red spandex and the crap logo, all things considered.

Derry was thankfully quiet at this time of night. Charging through the residential streets, away from Main and Centre, Richie followed Kansas back the way they had come. He was still not comfortable being on Witcham alone at night, even after all the years since Georgie’s arm was found by the storm drain that fateful day, bloody and in want of an owner.

Coming up to Canal, Richie sped up instinctively, not wanting to be caught unawares so close to the murky waters. By the time he reached Eddie’s street he was sweating heavily through his winter coat, the curls pasted straight on his perfectly pink forehead. If anyone saw him they would probably pass him off as another Monster of Derry, dreamt up by the nightmares of some sorry-for-himself kid.

In Richie’s case, the sorry sod was a porker all right. This kid was fed to bursting by his mother and father so that he was so round and plump his stubby little legs would not be enough to carry him away. They would feed him love and they would feed him lies and as long as he was never naughty they wouldn’t eat him all up. 

If he should ever try to feed other boys as they did him, his parents would send for the Sweat Fairy – a monster who ran and ran and ran through the night till its feet flesh turned to bone and gills ripped through his throat like Wolverine gashes so that he could breathe through all the sweat.

Richie was so transfixed on this new and disturbed visualization that he barely registered where he was. It was one thing to hall-ass through Derry at ungodly hours conspiring against your own sanity and making monsters out of lonely men but quite another to forget why. He had briefly forgotten, in his haste to draft demons out of his own despair, that his haste was meant for quite a different purpose.

“Fuck.” He huffed as he came to a halt, did an about-turn, and stared at the Kaspbrak’s house, some two doors away. Wiping a line of gloopy yet grossly liquidised snot from his cupid’s bow, he felt himself let out a sort of manic chuckle. 

Starting as one noise, Richie let out another and another until he was laughing away like some sort of lunatic in the middle of the dark, empty street. His lungs still felt raw and his muscles were proclaiming their abuse with each inhale but he laughed. 

Oh, did he laugh.

Eddie was nowhere in sight. There were no lights on in the house which meant one of two things. Either Sonia was lying dead somewhere having overdosed on too many nerve pills or her little Eddiebear was safely in and there was no need to stay up, every light in the house blazing. It was as if her son was a moth and the house a lamp, Sonia used to trap him. Richie supposed that made him the darkness, trying to save the moth despite what it might seem.

“Shit.” Richie hung on the I for a couple of seconds as he planned his next move. “Well, that was fucking dumb.”

He stood there with his hands atop his head, fingers linked with a grip that would rival a fly trap and laughed some more. Seriously, what had he been expecting? Had he really thought he would run to Eddie and he would be waiting for him and they would embrace and promise to never fight again or something?

“I’m an idiot.” Richie sighed, his breathing more or less settled. “I’m a total fucking idiot.” 

Unfortunately, there was no one to disagree, much less himself. It wasn’t like he could actually go and knock on Eddie’s door and risk waking Mrs K. Even if he did, what was he going to say? Huffing, he slumped onto the side of the road, exhausted and unsure.

Richie must have sat on the curb for quite some time because he was starting to feel the cold again. In his head he was going over what he had wanted to tell Eddie and he was not all that happy with the things he was coming up with. Eventually he realised he would have to make the journey home, the night unforgiving as it was, he could hardly sit outside till morning.

Pouting and creasing his eyebrows, Richie wondered if Eddie even wanted to hear what he had to say? Sure, they had agreed to talk and they had negotiated an armistice of sorts but Eddie had seemed pretty mad before. That being said, the toe-rag had kissed him and that had to count for something because friends don’t just kiss friends. This in itself was a perfectly reasonable and well-founded thought, yet Richie was doubting his rationalisations.

Richie could feel the moist eyeliner of a fresh set of tears being drawn onto him. He looked up trying not to let the tears fall again. Men should not cry like this, especially not over other men. He would just have to stomach the not knowing for another day. There was nothing he could do. Dogshit or not, he would just have to wait.

Walking home for the second time that night, Richie focused on breathing. He told himself that it was not a big deal and he could just try again in the morning. 

That night he dreamt of drowning in the Canal, except the water was thick, congealing blood that turned dreadfully black when his body was submerged. Blood to oil, Richie tried to wipe away the liquid, squinting through contaminated eyes only to see the outline of a boy that he supposed looked like the skeletal figure of Patrick or Victor, perhaps back from the grave. 

Sensing danger, Richie tried to run or swim but some sort of swamp monster clawed at his ankle below and Richie could do nothing but watch as a giant match materialised. The figure let out a kraken-esque laugh before striking it on the ragged bone jutting out where a bicep should have been. For a moment Richie and the figure wailed a macabre symphony before the match hit the oil and Richie…well Richie woke up, sweating and heaving but otherwise unharmed.

Still recovering from what had seemed like a grisly premonition, Richie scarcely registered the knock on his front door. It was Saturday morning which meant Stan, much like his own Mother, would be at the Synagogue. His father would be out too, off running errands in between chauffeuring his wife around.

Richie usually relished those mornings home alone but for the briefest of moments he was not even aware of his own existence, much less the day. This was why he let the knocking continue, half expecting his parents to get it. Eventually after the fifth or sixth knock Richie realised it was in fact a Saturday, his parents were not in and it was his duty to answer the door.

Jumping promptly to his feet, he stormed the staircase jumping two at a time down towards the hallway. Practically slamming his body against the door, he flung it open (panting a little) to find Stuttering Bill there with his fist mid thrust.

“Jeez-louise, Billy Boy! You trying to beat the birds at their own game or something’?” Bill, snorting and rolling his eyes softly, shook his head. Richie wasn’t sure if the shake was because he was not trying to get the proverbial worm or because he was in utter disbelief at his friend standing before him, starkers (excluding a pair of faded, polka dotted boxer-shorts), hair wild and specks lopsided. 

“Are you t-trying to beat the m-mole rats at theirs?” Grinning Richie mimicked a classic Arnold pose, flexing his baton limbs and letting Bill edit the rippling muscles in his mind, Bill was good at that after all. Promoting himself, Richie adopted the role of Colonel John Matrix not missing the irony of the Commando reference as he stood in only his pants.

“You’re a funny guy Billy, I like you. That’s why I am going to kill you last.” Bill crossed his arm and quirked an eyebrow at the Schwarzenegger impression.

“Y-you’re getting good at that.” Richie beamed, preening like a sphynx cat. “You should b-be on one of those talent s-sh-sh-“ Richie could see the word catch on Bill’s tongue and he waited patiently for Bill to spit it out, or a substitute it instead. “Fuck.”

“Ah yes, the classic talent fuck.” Richie laughed trying to rectify the frown forming between Bill’s eyes. 

He hated seeing Bill struggle with his stutter because he always felt guilty afterwards. He never figured out why but he supposed it was analogous with the apologetic state one enters when they want to offer to push someone in a wheelchair only to find out they crave independence and an identity away from paraplegic. Pushing the chair risks causing great offence but not pushing the chair weighs heavily on the conscience of any fool with working legs.

“You know w-what I mean.” Bill shot back, inhaling deeply. 

“Do I?” Richie asked, tailing off and tilting his head so he could look over the top of his glasses and down his nose at his friend. Bill flipped him off.

“Alright, alright. You wanna come inside?” Richie asked, “I need to go grab some pants.”

“I’ll wait here.” Intrigued Richie squinted his eyes at Bill then shrugged. It sounded cryptic.

“Okay, give me two secs.” Grinding his molars together, Richie was about to turn to leave when he spun to face Bill smiling once more. “I’ll be back.”

Bill got a kick out of that and it was like he always said, always leave them laughing.

Sprinting back up the stairs, Richie felt the tightness in his legs and knew that he had the whole running fiasco to thank for that. In his room he hunted for some clothes, throwing on the least fetid shirt he could find on his floor. After a quick trip to the bathroom to brush his teeth, he ran back downstairs, eager to know what quest Bill was on.

“-just putting some clothes on.” He heard from outside. “I thought you were w-working today?”

“Who’s working today?” Richie yelled out, striding towards the open front door. “Is that Stan?”

Having been awake for all of ten minutes, Richie had not had the time to figure that Stanley ‘Urine’ Uris and Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier were due one serious conversation. One Jew to another, they would probably have to talk about some things and that was not something that thrilled Richie one bit. 

Attempting to ignore the floret of nervousness in his stomach, Richie yanked the sweater he had left hanging on the banister over his head. Catching on his glasses, some thread caught at the hinge like a foot in a bear trap causing Richie to tumble blindly from side to side.

“How’s it hanging, curly fry?” Richie squawked out from inside his jumper. 

Steadying his footing as his head bulged out the hole like a baby out a vagina, Richie had to close his eyes so that he didn’t risk scrapping the over starched fabric on his eyeballs. 

Most, if not all, of his clothes had been over starched as part of his mother’s campaign to make wearing clothes as uncomfortable as possible. In the past he had started petitioning for her to leave his jumpers be but this only succeeded in him getting a good case of the old cauliflower ear. According to his father, lazy little shits who let their mothers’ do all their laundry did not have any right to complain to which Richie asked what his excuse was. Admittedly, Richie’s Vincent Price impersonation might have been the cherry that pissed him passed the post.

Exposed once more to the light of day, Richie felt the nerves in his stomach turn from florets to fungus. The strange sensation of nausea rippled through him like crack-cocaine being injected directly into his blood.

“Upside down, Rich.” 

Eddie was there looking snug and slightly claustrophobic in a red knitted hat that matched a red knitted scarf that matched some red knitted mittens, all poking out from a coat that was likely stuffed with millions of goose feathers. Sonia had really out done herself; the fat cow probably used the hair off her muff he thought spitefully then quickly reprimanded himself. He knew Eddie would be upset if he could hear Richie’s thoughts as Richie sometimes suspected he could.

“Eddie.” Just like that he sounded like he was thirteen again, the cusp of manhood dangling on his balls as his voice fluctuated in the cracks of adolescence.

“Hi.” He spoke like his words were a thousand grains of salt in his mouth. 

“Hi.” Richie said dumbly. 

Bill was standing passively, looking between them. He too was wearing a coat but his mother had not felt the need to cover every exposed extremity like she was bubble wrapping a Ming vase. No, Bill was quite clearly the more sensible of the two with his pink nose and rouge tipped ears.

Richie often wondered if Bill wished his mum would snake length after length of itchy fabric round his neck or if she would help him pick out a shirt to wear on a night out or even go to a counsellor to learn that there were other ways to show that she loved her son then stuffing him like a turkey before thanksgiving. 

Richie doubted Bill ever resented for Georgie for dying (he had been the best big brother in the world) but he wondered if Bill felt like his brother’s death had robbed him of caring parents. Ever since that day, Bill’s existence had been of little consequence to the Denboroughs. They still loved him of course but in the way a child loves a distant grandparent; routinely and without fervour.

“I’m not staying long, g-guys.” Bill spoke evenly, breaking Richie’s line of thought. Despite the eminence of his stutter, his voice was the smoothest of all three. “I just wanted to borrow the Beatles from Richie.”

Blinking Richie looked at Bill like he was a stranger. He had assumed they were going out somewhere. That Bill was here because he wanted to spend time with him. That Bill wouldn’t get up at the arse-crack of dawn to come all the way to the Toziers’ humble abode just to make up some half-assed excuse to leave before they had even had the chance to hang out.

“I lent that to Stan ages ago, compadre.” Richie said, his hands shoved into his pocket because it was actually pretty was cold outside. “I’ve got Motorhead, if you want?”

Bill shook his head like the idea was absurd. 

“I’ll just go grab it from Stan now, I g-got an afternoon shift so I need to g-g-get it otherwise I’ll be l-listening to B-Barry Manalo again.” Bill was saying, tipping his head to Eddie and backing up the drive hastily. 

“Dude.” Richie looked at Eddie and made a face as if to say, ‘the fuck is his problem’ to which Eddie made a face that seemed to say, ‘fuck if I know’. “I’ve got loads of other records.”

“Honestly, R-Richie, I’m good.” He was saying, not looking at either of them now.

“I thought we were gunna hang out?” Richie said, trying to ignore how hyper-aware he was of Eddie’s eyes on him.

“We can hang out tonight, after work!” Bill called as he picked up his old granny bike, Silver, from the edge of the drive. “You guys can come round mine; I think Bev is coming r-round anyway.”

Saddling his bike quickly, the tires skidding loosely against the pavement and the axels squeaking loudly, Bill took his leave. Richie and Eddie watched Bill push off shouting Hi-Yo Silver, picking up a speed that rivalled the likes of Jesse Owens, you know, if the sprinter was a bike.

“The fuck was that all about?” Richie said, more to himself than to Eddie who looked just as bewildered as he felt. “That was weird, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie confirmed turning his whole body to look out towards the road Bill had disappeared down and then back to look at Richie. “Super weird.”

Giving a slightly amused ‘huh’ Richie stared at the empty street for a moment or two. In his defence, he had barely woken up and he was a bit tiered but it took Richie a good minute to realise who was on his doorstep and why he was likely there. 

“You coming in or are you gunna stand there with a finger up your arse all day, Eddie Spaghetti?” 

“Fuck you.” Eddie said but headed towards the door anyway. “You’re-“

“Such an asshole? Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that before shortcake.” Richie sallied back. “You wanna insult me or you wanna woodshop this shit.”

“That makes no sense, what the fuck does– how does that even…” Frowning at the lack of sense Richie had made but also managing to figure out what he had meant midway through complaining about the lack of sense must have had Eddie seeing stars. “I hate you.”

Richie laughed because it was the one thing he had been dreading most of all. The one thing that had him running through Derry in the dark like a fool. It had been the single most feared phrase in his thoughts, next to ‘you’re gay’ and Richie had been petrified that Eddie would one day say it to him and mean it. 

It was thankfully not that day because even as he said it, Eddie betrayed a small smile.

“Come on, I’ll make you a hot chocolate.” 

…………

Having helped unbandage Eddie from the fibrous yarn of his mother’s trappings, Richie led the way to the kitchen, a familiar sense of Déjà vu setting in. Palms feeling slick and tongue feeling rough, Richie knew that the talk they were about to have was going to change everything, like vows at a wedding, for better or for worse. 

“So Eds, about yesterday…” Richie began, his body on autopilot as he set about making the drinks. Eddie standing by the sink watching him. He seemed to be calculating his next move like this was chess.

“Richie, look I’m sorry.” He said quickly. “I didn’t mean to, didn’t want to…I was being an idiot.”

“Eddie.” Richie stopped and turned to look at him. He still looked as run down as the night before, the sort of tiered that you could only assume ran to the bone, clung to it like melting flesh, dragging him down with each step, each breath, each look. 

Richie wanted to tell him to sit down or to slow down but he had the feeling that Eddie, much like he had been the night before, was in a rush to say everything before he lost the nerve.

“No seriously, the way I talked about Sydney and the way I…I was way outta line. I just wasn’t expecting you to have a girlfriend but that doesn’t mean I should’ve called you that.”

“No, Eddie, look. I tried to tell you last night.” Richie cut in, standing no less than a metre from Eddie now. He was not going to let this get drawn out into a big thing about what they did wrong and what they could do better. This was not a fucking peer review of their schoolwork or something.

“I know you did. You were right bro.” Richie cringed at Eddie calling him bro.

Eddie had picked up several bad habits over the years and using bro as a pronoun, a verb and an adjective was certainly one of them. 

“Eddie.” Richie tried again.

“I’m serious, I just thought, like, you didn’t care that I had been ill and that you were glad I wasn’t around and stuff.” Eddie sniffed and for an awful moment Richie thought Eddie might cry. 

“Dude, shut up and look at me.” It came out brash sounding but it had enough shock factor to get Eddie’s focus back. “Sydney is not my girlfriend for a start, okay?”

“Wait, but everyone said–“

“We started dating but yesterday it got confused and stuff but no, we aren’t ‘together’ together so you didn’t, I don’t think you did a Marylin Monroe or whatever.” Richie explained not missing how Eddie said ‘everyone’ and not ‘you’ like he was trying to keep things as civil as possible – no accusations here.

“Huh?” 

“Never mind.” Richie waved his hand, before taking an earnest step forward. “Look, Eds, the point– I tried to tell you last night, I mean I literally ran to your house after the whole– anyway, again, not the point. Look, I don’t want to lose you dude.”

Gaping at him, Richie gritted his teeth at the level of babbling idiot he had managed to reach.

“You came to my house last night?” Eddie asked slowly.

“Yeah, I mean, I ran back to try and catch you before you went in because like, I wanted to apologise and tell you I was glad you were okay and stuff.”

“You ran? Willingly?” Richie laughed at that because it was so like Eddie to clock the oh so important details like the fact Richie hated running and not that he didn’t want to lose his best friend.

“Yeah, dude. I didn’t want to go to sleep thinking you hated me and then be hit by like a meteor or some shit and die without knowing if you want me dead or not.”

Eddie took a couple of steps back shaking his head almost tripping over a stray washing basket Richie had been asked to put away the night before. After a smooth recovery and a few curses he composed himself again.

“Hate you? No, you hate me.” The conviction in his voice was worrying. “You were so mad yesterday.”

“I thought you had been avoiding me for a month dude!” Richie fessed looking a bit embarrassed but soldiering through, nevertheless. “I thought you hated me for the…you know.”

“Why would I be mad at you for that?” Eddie asked incredulously. “I told you I wanted to do that to.”

“Yeah but it’s different.” He was saying, taking another couple of steps towards Eddie. “I thought you knew that…that I want to do that stuff with you because I…like you?”

In his head his attraction to Eddie was some poetic tragedy; an epic to rival even Milton or Keats or whoever his Aunt used to bang on about. Unfortunately, in real life his feelings were far less eloquently expressed. It was like expecting a toddler to explain quantum physics; painful for everyone involved.

“I mean, yeah bro, I like you too. I wouldn’t let you do that shit if you were a total jerk.” The words were broken up by laughs but the diluted cerise of Eddie’s cheeks gave away him away. 

“Eds, that’s not what I mean and you know it.” Richie stated, his hand going to pinch Eddie’s blushing cheeks in the way he loved to hate. “I only want to do that stuff with you because you’re the only one that I…like.”

Richie was pretty sure he was making a mess of this. If only he had the time to prepare everything or at least enough time to figure out a better way to tell Eddie that he had discovered that he was emotionally invested in the thing going on between them, in Eddie. Even though he had gone over it a thousand times in his head there was something different about actually saying it out loud.

“That’s not me saying I want to be some queerboy who regulars down at the Falcon with you or anything but like, I don’t like all this tension and shit between us.” Richie was suddenly very queasy, the urge to hide behind a joke or deflect with a voice tempting him. Anything to get Eddie to stop looking at him. “It’s just this is driving me dogshit.”

“What, and you think this is my idea of a fun time?” Eddie sassed his hand going to his hip expectantly. 

They looked at each other and for a moment Richie thought they were about to take another detour down quarrel lane when Eddie’s Adams apple wobbled. 

“I just can’t be gay, Rich.” Eddie whispered. “My mum would just die, I know it. I can’t be gay.”

That was probably true, Richie thought ruefully. Eddie, despite all of his mother’s misgivings, loved her for the simple fact she had loved him and raised him. After Mr Kaspbrak’s untimely passing, Mrs K had tried to protect him from the world but most importantly from himself. 

“Oh yeah, cause my dad would throw a big fucking party if I–.” Richie stopped, trying not to start a pissing contest over whose parents would be more upset. He laughed humourlessly. “Look I’m not saying I want to be your boyfriend or whatever. I’m not saying I want anyone to find out. I’m just letting you know that I like you.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to say to that, dickwad?” Eddie was running a hand through his hair, pushing it back so hard it was a wonder he hadn’t forcibly given himself a receding hairline by now. “I just came over here to apologise and now you’re telling me that you like me? I mean seriously, are you messing with me right now?”

“No, Eddie, I’m no messing with you. I’m saying I don’t want to lose you as a friend, ever, you little shit.” Richie said, scrunching his hands into frustrated claws. “It’s just…I feel like I can’t breathe without you.” 

For a moment Eddie looked lost like a lonely bottle, long since robbed of it’s note, bobbing in the rough ocean waters a little way off from the storm. Richie bit his lip waiting for Eddie to say something.

“See, I feel like I can’t breathe with you.” Eyes no longer glazed over like they were just moments before, Eddie looked at him, into him, and Richie felt his gut drop. It was a violent truth. 

“I make you feel like you can’t breathe?” Richie asked, strangely breathless himself. 

“Not in a bad way.” Eddie rushed out, grabbing Richie’s wrist firmly, the contact somehow making things worse. Richie felt his jaw pulse with unencumbered desire for an instant. Eddie was a live wire and his skin was the river.

“Oh, you meant can’t breathe in a good way.” Richie chided sarcastically, trying to pull away, the electrifying touch only serving to make him fear more. “Let go.”

“God, you’re so fucking annoying. I’m trying to tell you that I don’t want to lose you as a friend either.” Eddie basically shouted at Richie, looking at him like he was some big shot lawyer talking to a petulant client.

“Oh yeah, cause that’s the obvious subtext to suffocation?” Richie was no longer trying to pull away but he still sounded affronted. There was that charge between them again and Richie was reminded of the previous night and how their anger had turned to this energy that kept building and building until Eddie had finally allowed them some release.

“Richie.” Eddie groaned, tiered it seemed, from trying to explain what was going on in that complicated head of his. “I don’t want to lose you as a friend but I also don’t want to have to keep pretending I don’t like you too. Okay? But come on Rich, this is fucking Derry man. I’m scared, alright.”

“Eddie.” Richie said as his index finger rubbed slow circles up and down Eddie’s forearm. He let the nub of his nail scratch lightly at the crook of Eddie’s elbow, the motion met by a sharp inhale. “It’s gunna be fine, you’re braver than you think.”

“Richie.” Eddie breathed as the taller man lifted his wrist and kissed the soft flesh poking out from the cusp of his jumper. “Fuck you, bro. You’re not making this easier. Richie.”

“From now on, when it’s just you and me, we can do this…” Following the material up his arm, Richie placed kiss after kiss on the loose cotton, knowing that only in actions could their words make any sense. “It’s just you and me, Eds.”

“Richie.”

Pulling them together like a seamstress would a stitch, Richie tucked Eddie against himself. Finally, Richie felt like he could breathe again. He tried not to focus on the shallow and erratic rise and fall of Eddie’s chest. Guiltily, Richie stole the breath from Eddie, a man no longer drowning but dancing in the flames, the devil not too far behind.

Kissing each other in a way that only young lovers can, they felt the dreaded, lustful heat of their attraction. Richie would later suggest that it was okay for them to be like this if no one else found out. After he had gotten on his knees and taken Eddie’s dick, stiff and foreign in his mouth, Richie made them both hot chocolates. Sitting on the sofa in his lounge watching ‘Killer Clowns’ and processing what they had just done, Richie grabbed Eddie’s hand silently and played with his small fingers until his parents got back.

Once his parents were home they went straight back to normal, assuming their roles as best pals who had had a fight but were all peachy-keen now. It was, Richie supposed, like that philosophical conundrum involving a falling tree. If he sucked off his friend and no one was around to see it, did it really happen?

Assuming they were fine as long as no one knew about their dirty little secret, Richie continued bantering away with Eddie like old times. He would figure out what to do about Stan and Syd later but for now, he wanted to enjoy having his inhaler there with him. He wanted to enjoy the first day in a long time he hadn’t been freaking out.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me ALL the kudos if you liked it (yes my only validation is kudos...). Also thoughts/comments/reviews are so very very welcome. 
> 
> P.S. Richie’s love was not unrequited.


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